Iced Chaos
by lalunaticscribe
Summary: There's a freakishly powerful kid running loose, there are more powerful freaks on the way, and I'm supposed to find them before the Winter Lady finds me and kills me. Makes me wonder why I'm still in the Biz, really. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_**Iced Chaos**_

When you're in a job like, say, being a private detective, you meet a huge variety of people, all of different personalities, quirks, and leaving different impressions on you. When you're Chicago's only professional wizard private detective, plus the only Warden in the Windy City, the old capital of crime after Capone, you meet a even stranger, metaphysical mix other than your plain vanilla human, some of them which could only be monsters of legend, or some so beautiful that they could keep men eternally in heat.

I've seen some of them. Girl next door? Check. Innocence of youth? Ditto. Angelic, inhumane splendour, just as well. The kind which makes everyone surrounding almost deformed by comparison, included. Even so, the beautiful can be scarier than the plainly monstrous, with an ideal epitome that could be summarised in a single name of the Unseelie Queen of Faerie. Personally, I'd rather choose a nice, safely attractive human woman any day. Human women don't come with so many of the dangerously insane clauses that land me in deep shit.

Now, said woman was standing in the ruckus that I call my office. Weird, I say; coincidence hasn't been kind that way. Someone up there takes a serious interest in my suffering.

The woman could be summarised in a single term: sex kitten. She had the kind of curves that you see only with porn stars, long auburn hair which fell past her hips, framing curves most women would kill for, and most men would kill to drool over, and Oriental tones suffusing the smooth skin. Her mouth was wide and pouty in a cattish, sexy way, and startling blue eyes were wide, clearly studying me. She didn't look at me like I was insane; my private investigator instincts picked up a core of steel-like strength, before it was shoved aside by my libido.

Bob the Skull, my nonmaterial lab assistant, would have been happy to see her. Seeing as I was here, I wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment, for a few seconds at any rate.

'What can I do to help, Miss…' I searched the few unaffected parts of my memory for it. '…Matsumoto?'

'I have a job for you,' the woman purred. It was an honest-to-God purr, a throaty, sensual sound that should be Marilyn Monroe's. The voice was obviously feminine, a bit like the ex-head of Special investigations.

Meaning that under all that slightly overblown sexuality and large, probably not plastic surgery curves, namely her large, possibly a D-cup chest –hey, I'm a man, and a red-blooded one- and her great ass, Matsumoto was probably just as dangerous as the woman in charge of Chicago's monster hunters.

Meanwhile, I realised that I was just about to lean over my dirt-cheap desk to look down at her…ahem.

Bob the Skull would be so happy in my place. I got out a pen, a notebook, and quietly set my .44 near my right hand. 'Please, tell me your problem.'

'Mister Dresden, I need you to find a missing boy,' she said. Inwardly, I groaned.

'How did that happen?' I asked, probably too bluntly. Oops.

'I was going to a bar, and I left my child in the room, and when I came back he wasn't there, so I hot-footed it straight to you.' She said, her expression bordering on hysteria, crossing her legs nervously. I tore my eyes off those amazingly smooth legs and got my head in the game. 'Can you give me a description of your child, Miss Matsumoto?'

'How do you know I'm not married?' she asked in an expression akin to wonder.

'You don't wear a ring,' I explained patiently. 'And before I direct you to Chicago Police Department's missing persons bureau, could you please explain the circumstances from which your charge disappeared.'

'My charge?' she asked, puzzled.

'Yes. Logically speaking, most women go to the police. The only time they don't is if they've got something to hide, or…' I placed special emphasis on the word, 'if they didn't want the child's real parents in this. Also, parents use the term 'child' to refer to their kids. Only a stranger refers to them by sex.'

'Astute,' she murmured. 'Logical. But couldn't I just be a concerned parent?'

'Hell, lady, if you were, you'd go to the police and let them, not come to me.' I replied patiently. 'Earlier, you said that you went to a bar. What kind of single mother leaves their kid alone in a room while they went out to a bar, I ask you.' I replied, placing my .44 on the table, the end pointing at her. 'Now, unless you want to get injured, please tell me your real purpose, Miss Matsumoto. I've had a bad day, my car's in the garage, and I still haven't recovered from horrible injuries given to me a few months ago, along with a blinding migraine. Believe me; you don't want to face me when I'm pissed.'

She glared at me defiantly, then her mouth curved into a smile, and she seemed almost happy. 'Good. I need you to find a boy.'

I groaned. 'We've been through this…'

'No, really,' she added hurriedly, grabbing her nearby purse, an oddly large affair with a box clasp. She pulled a Polaroid out, placing it on the table to reveal its subject.

My lungs felt like someone had pulled at my diaphragm extra hard to push more air in, as I looked at the kid in question. About twelve or thirteen, short, his hair a natural white, since I couldn't see any colour about the roots. The Japanese kid's cold teal eyes was looking at the camera, a scowl on his young face, as his hands went into the pockets of his white corduroy pants that made him look slightly older than he actually was. I knew that kid, having met him once before.

I looked at the photo of the death god Hitsugaya, to Matsumoto, and back.

Hell's bells.

* * *

'You're a Shinigami.' I blurted out.

She seemed amused. 'Is that surprising? I'm not the only one you've met before.'

'Uh, well, you're the first female death god I've met.' I admitted lamely.

'Oh?' she grinned, showing even white teeth and cute dimples, which sent my hormones into an unruly stage and accelerated my bloodstream by quite a bit.

'So tell me,' I drawled. 'How're you related to Hitsugaya? You seemed so secretive and all that.'

'The kid's my captain,' she replied coyly, 'my superior, my boss, and a better warrior than I am, to be exact.'

I've lived through attacks on me and my friends, fighting the forces of things trying to kill me and friends, which included something out of the Sci-Fi Channel's October line-up. I survived a few years with a psycho faerie as my godmother, two times working for the Winter Queen, and just a few months ago, an immortal North American nightmare of a skinwalker. If someone came up to me and spun a ridiculous yarn on the supernatural nations, I'd believe that.

I almost didn't believe her claim. Almost, if I hadn't met the Archive, a twelve-year-old girl. She took on eight Denarians, the holders of thirty silver coins, each containing a fallen angel, and every Denarian a walking nightmare, where 'hard to kill' didn't even describe them in most senses. I'd been blown out by a single one of them, and a twelve-year old beat them. Same with Hitsugaya; the first time I saw the kid, said kid was holding a Japanese katana, slicing a green monster to bits like it was Parmesan.

Still…how novel.

'Okay,' I said. 'Freakishly powerful kid in Chicago, possibly loose, and you want me to find him. Because for some skewed reason, you people can't actually track anything here, if I'm correct.'

'Correct.' She replied happily. 'So what's your answer?'

'Here's the part where I ask why don't you not involve me in this and go?' I asked, my temper rising. 'You come here and ask me to find a god? A freaking _god_?'

'To be more accurate it's kinda like a lesser god, but you get the point.' She replied. 'He went missing in your town, after all. And if he isn't found, then we'll have to pull a manual search.'

'And that would be horrible how, exactly?' I asked, leaning back in my old chair.

'The twelve most powerful death gods would assemble here, in Chicago. If any more than three appear in any given place, weird things happen. Last time the strongest came out, it nearly melted the Arctic caps. Another time caused a hurricane, and another some horticultural problems involving a forest growing over a city in a day.'

I blinked. 'Wow.'

'If Captain Hitsugaya isn't found, at least ten would come here. And when death gods assemble, there's going to be an imbalance on. This could mean war.'

I sighed. 'And with Chicago as the battlefield for the involving parties. People will get hurt.'

'Yes. Then again, being near a Captain of the death gods could also result in some people gaining power.' Matsumoto added after a thought.

I decided against the merits of slamming my head on the desk. 'Dammit. I'm in. What was Hitsugaya doing here in the first place?'

'I believe it was to…find somebody.' She suggested. 'Perhaps you could track down who he was supposed to find. Here's the guy's hair.'

I glanced at the eerily familiar lock of orange bristles, feeling another headache develop. Damn.

* * *

_**This is my first attempt at crossovers longer than one chapter. Hopefully, this is okay. Pls review, or I swear, I will purposely think of a horrible Artemis Fowl x Dresden Files crossover and post it up.**_

_**I do not own Dresden Files, or Bleach. This is a standard cover-ass line. Pardon the pun.**_


	2. Chapter 2

'In short, Harry. You're screwed.' The bleached human skull, Bob, my lab assistant, told me an hour later, when Matsumoto had left me, and gone somewhere, while I got a cab. The Blue Beetle hasn't been fixed yet, not after the last beating it took.

'Shut up,' I growled as I gathered the things needed for the spell. 'Just tell me if anything could put that guy down.'

'I don't really know, Harry. Being awarded the position of Captain is pretty similar to the Senior Council. They have tons of skills, backed by tons of power and experience. We can place it that the kid's budding power is right now about equal to Maeve.'

I dropped the chalk I was holding in my hand, trying not to focus on Mab's understudy in wickedness, the Winter Lady, youngest of the Winter Queens, but still a Faerie Queen, the worst thing one could go against short of a god, an angel, Mab, Titania or the entire White Council. And we were talking about the Lady of the cruel, pitiless and remorseless Unseelie fae. Hell's bells.

'Is that power within limits, like faerie power?' I asked.

'No.' Bob replied smugly. 'If we're talking about limits, then it's pretty much based on their own will. Let's put it this way; in their world, they're stronger, but in this world, like most other spirit entities, they're weakened, but still strong enough to be called a god of death.'

'Damn.' I replied. The word was succinctly put.

'I agree. Now, why on earth did you sign up for this? I thought you finally decided to play safe too. You do realise you could die from this, right?' Bob asked with concern in his voice. 'I don't want to be stuck down here until your landlady throws me out, and I don't want to return to Mab either.'

'There's a kid missing, Bob,' I wearily said, cupping my face in my hands. 'And if I don't, ten people just like Hitsugaya is gonna come here, or they might already be here. Also, Bob.'

'Yeah?'

'One day you're going to have to tell me what you did to mess with _the_ Mab.'

Bob shut up real fast, his eyes down to two orange pinpricks as he focused his memory, before they filled out the holes in his skull again. 'That's gonna be pretty bad.'

'Exactly, which is why I'm going to have to find a certain kid, a certain god, and prevent this war from happening. By myself.'

'In both situations,' he said, as if trying not to hit me on the head, which is a bit difficult when you don't have arms. 'Don't you have contacts? The dead? The Nevernever? Even the freaking morgue would be better than that.'

A sudden idea struck me. 'Hey Bob.'

'Yeah?'

'I just got a great idea.' I told him, moving to the stepladder. 'You're getting new paperbacks for this.'

'Really?' Bob the Skull exclaimed, his orange eyes still bright as I closed the trapdoor. I could still hear him yelling, 'It's a bestseller, right??!! Harry??' as I went out to pound the proverbial pavement.

I made a mental note to get that. I probably could afford it, I thought. Then Mouse followed me out, and I remembered the groceries. Plus a hundred and one debts I haven't cleared yet.

Damn, I can't ever get all the good stuff in life.

* * *

Chicago has a neat morgue. Course, they call it the Forensic Institute now, but that doesn't change what it is. No matter how sterile the name, how typical the surroundings, how many buildings they erect around the dry lawns, it's still a damn morgue. I made my way up through the entrance, where a security guard let me through. Granted, normally, with my big leather coat and the staff I tote about, most wouldn't, but not only do I know the guy, I was armed with a crate of Mac's beer, something guaranteed to get its way into people's good books.

Yeah, for those who don't know, Mac's dark is a pretty dangerous weapon all on its own. Especially in the horrible summer we have now. To be more specific, this summer is actually kinda warmer than Chicago's usual. Don't ask me why.

Anyway, once I got in, I just pretty much started wandering about the clean, alcohol-scented hallways, listening for the _oom_-_pha_, _oom_-_pha_, of bass stereo playing polka music. Pretty soon, I arrived at the source of said music, and walked through the door.

Waldo Butters had just finished an autopsy, now just untying his scrub by the examination table, the body covered by a white cloth. He was a wiry little guy, five foot three, Jewish, his black hair helter-skelter standing on his head, looking every bit the miniature Doc Frankenstein with his black wire-rimmed glasses, lab coat and green hospital scrubs and sneakers.

That was, if the Forensic Institute actually allowed those kinds of experiments, and if Butters ever got over the Necromancers-R-Us fiasco a few years ago, where an old friend was killed and reanimated as a zombie, and then nearly ripped my car apart before inconsiderately dying. Otherwise, Butters, was pretty much the average ME.

'Hey, Butters,' I greeted him, walking in, careful to give the computer and anything remotely technological a wide berth. 'How's the erm…John and Jane Doe?'

'A couple of bodies right up your street, Harry,' Butters replied, his feet shuffling in time to the _oom-pha_ beat of the polka. 'Good timing, I was just about to call.'

'Lemme guess,' I drawled, leaning on my staff. 'It's either extremely gruesome, with missing bits and pieces, or completely without any sign of any cause of death, just like the vic just stopped breathing.'

Butters blinked at me. 'How did you know that? We have a little of both.'

I blinked. Well, I hadn't actually expected that. Am I psychic? Sufficiently so. Am I lucky? Yeah right.

'Come on, I'll show you.' Butters motioned to the table, donning a pair of disposable gloves, then pulling the tarp covering the body off the examination table.

Whatever I had for breakfast went into my throat for a moment. The body had been bashed so hard, bruises were still there, visible amongst the blood on the face and body. It was hard to tell what, or who, it was beforehand, just that it was roughly human, roughly male, and that's about it.

'I don't know,' I told him. 'May be something odd, but I'll do a thorough check later. Can I see the second body?'

Butters nodded, moving towards a second examination table I haven't noticed earlier, and threw the tarp off, revealing a sleeping Hitsugaya's face.

* * *

'Dammit,' I cursed quietly, turning away. The kid was dead. Or missing, since that was probably the false body Matsumoto was telling me about.

Which was generally pretty bad; by the common sense of supernatural nations, they normally tend to demand revenge first, and to hell with the consequences. If the Shinigami decided that finding the culprit was more important, I might just have a war on my hands pretty soon.

'Harry?' Butters was looking at me, concerned. 'You have that look on your face that says the shit's hitting the fan.'

'Butters, I was paid to find this kid.' I pointed to the corpse. 'Do we have identification?'

Butters consulted the file. 'None. The kid's a John Doe on public records, no name, no id, and no nothing. Not even a birth certificate. He'll be gone soon.'

'Butters, this may be a bit hard to believe, but that kid is…was pretty powerful.' I reiterated. It doesn't do to reveal client's information. 'And a few people are probably after him. Butters, this is not a real body, it's just an empty shell now.'

'Funny how you said that.' Butters replied, a puzzled expression on his face. 'It really was an empty shell, no organs, vessels, not even some fluid.' He eyed me. 'This is some of the weird mystical things now, right, Harry?'

'Yeah,' I muttered back, turning just as the door swung open. 'It is.'

'Where are you going?' Butters asked, before the door swung shut, carrying a man in a lab coat through.

'Tracking down a kid,' I muttered, as I made my way out.

* * *

By dint of a simple tracking spell, which was facilitated somewhat by a circle, the lock of orange hair, and some chalk, I managed to find the kid. When I found the kid, which was when the trouble started, as I parked in front of a really neat house that looked like something out of _Architectural_ _Digest_, the lawn covered in green grass, surrounded by a white picket fence. The decorated mailbox read _The Carpenters _in cheerfully painted letters_. _There were_ c_hildren's toys in evidence, with a look of suburbia about it despite being in Chicago, America's third largest seemed peaceful, and was peaceful, with good reason; the house was the property of one Michael Carpenter, former Knight of the Cross, overall devout, kickass knight, and father of Molly Carpenter, apprentice to one Harry Dresden, wizard of the White Council, who was Michael's friend.

When you have that much threat hanging around, supernatural predators tend to find hunting in other places easier.

I very nearly swore when I pulled up there. Michael was almost able to find and seal off all thirty coins of the Fallen, the Blackened Denarians, until my involvement, which led to twelve coins getting MIA and Michael out of the Lord's commission, with a shattered pelvis, damaged spine, collapsed lung, and damaged kidneys, four major highlights of the list of injuries he got in that battle. Now, he runs a little construction company, with coaching a baseball team on the sidelines.

I walked to the doorstep and rung the bell, and what sounded like an old-fashioned bell rung on the other side of the door. Smart; technology tends to work badly, even around apprentice wizards, like Molly Carpenter. Old-fashioned doorbells were, on the other hand, okay. They work for a damn long time, without electricity.

Molly answered the door. This time, she decided to dye her hair electric blue, with stripes of other cool colours and white thrown in, so it looks like a disturbing reminder of a glacier. 'Hi, Harry.'

'Molly, I don't have time right now, but is there anybody in your house at this moment?'

'Excuse me?' a hard voice repeated, as Charity Carpenter appeared behind her daughter. Although the hair was a different colour, it was like having two Charitys there. For those who have never met Charity, I think it's fair to call Charity a tigress. A tigress is protective of her kids, and will eat anything trying to injure them. That's Charity. Both were built a bit like a brick house, both look sufficiently strong, both could definitely outstare me. Which made it a bit intimidating, obviously; memories of Charity's right hook weren't going to fade anytime soon.

Which was when an unmarked black van pulled up to the front gate, the proverbial trouble started.

Wait for it…

'Is that a _shotgun_?' Charity asked, looking behind me.

And there it is.

* * *

_**Pls read & review!!!**_

_**Notice: There is no definite fixed time for when I release this.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**I have not read Changes yet, therefore I will not include any mention of that in this fanfic. However, I have read Turn Coat, if that makes fans feel better.**_

_**I do not own Bleach or Dresden Files, though I'm in the Facebook fan group. This is a standard cover tagline.**_

* * *

This is America, the land of freedom. Granted, the actual intended meaning runs along the lines of the word 'liberty', but the meaning is about the same. Here, as long as nobody is offended, no one cares what you do, be it lock yourself up, play, or heaven forbid, something stupid, like blow up an empty building elevator because a scorpion attacked you. People have the right to an attorney, to makeup, deodorant, or go au natural. Obviously, in a system like that, one often reads about the crazy accidents where a madman grabs a gun and run off on a mission to shoot anything in his, or her way, to be PC about it, with extreme prejudice, and because guns are allowed to be sold, there's pretty much nothing to do about it.

As I watched the insane man holds the gun, right there on the steps of Michael's Wrigley Place house, I thought that here was a man that, if he ever caused trouble, was at least polite enough to be peculiar enough to be easily picked out of a line up.

He looked about in his late teens or early twenties, with a shock of long red hair tied up in a tail behind his head. The bangs were held away from his eyes by a sort of white bandanna, which gave his features a sort of simian look. Below the bandanna, I could spot out the dark lines of tattoo marks, which were also evident along his neck in a sort of design like black lightning across his neck, similar to what Molly has, except that from what I've seen, his was on a much larger scale. The most outlandish thing were his clothes; jeans, yellow T-shirt, with the words _It's a damn baboon, not a chimp_ printed upon it, along with some cartoonish interpretation of a monkey. From my view, he really looked like a monkey.

The pump-action shotgun he was holding made him a dangerous monkey.

The huge gun went off as he yelled towards the house, in a tongue I assumed was Japanese. Still looking at that sight, I asked again: 'Is there anyone here?'

'Alicia's school had an exchange programme with a Japanese high school.' Charity answered, her eyes goggled towards the spectacle. 'Two students are temporarily staying here. Why, Mister Dresden?'

Charity has always addressed me as Mister, even before the days of the Carpenter family's latest addition. At that time, I had simply assumed it was because she hated me for endangering her husband. Now, I suspect the Mister part was simply to differentiate between the little Harry Carpenter and me.

'Frankly, I'd like to know that, too.' I muttered, as I reached out with my senses towards Red-hair.

The raw power that answered was so strong, I nearly keeled over there. God, the guy was no featherweight in the metaphysical division. Great, an outlandish, powerful monkey. Just what I needed.

At the same time, I felt behind me an odd sense of another power, on a whole different league from mine…wait, two powers? Wasn't there just one Shinigami there?

I turned behind, and a wave of pure power filled my magical senses, nearly overloading them. My breathing rate became faster, sweat began to form on my hands, and my duster suddenly felt a lot warmer as I regarded the newcomers.

Both were Asian males, both looked in their late teens, and if not for the sheer power flooding my senses from one, would pass for human. The taller of them had a shock of orange hair, brown eyes, and his features seemed permanently locked in a frown that left a sort of seriousness on young features. The shorter brunette, with a bluish shade about the hair that somehow did not strike me as engineered in a saloon, eyed me with cold blue eyes covered by rimless glasses he was correcting. Both were eyeing me with shocked expressions, but not slack-jawed that they forgot Red-Hair outside.

The orange-haired one, going by the name of Ichigo Kurosaki, recognised immediately. 'The detective from last time?' he asked warily, shifting his foot to distribute his weight on both legs. A martial arts practitioner then, I noticed.

'The very same,' I nodded, waving a thumb behind me. 'Do you know the guy outside?'

'Do I? Yes.' the orange-haired, Ichigo Kurosaki, replied, nodding. The bespectacled teenager with him also nodded, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

As I prepared to reason it out with what could be a madman, a distant scream made its way to my ears, forcing me to pause right there. A second later, an amalgation of animal sounds and human screams, eerie, horrible, and completely like something screaming in agony, grated itself against my ears, and a sense of quiet, eerie _wrongness_ came over me.

I have sensed something like this before, from a really big old North American nightmare, millennia old and strong. It took one of the Senior Council, one of seven of the oldest, strongest wizards alive to chase it off. This one was on a smaller scale, like a paper boat to a container ship. Still, it was enough for me to call fire.

'Close the door.' I murmured to Charity, whose blue eyes widened, then in a flash of blond curls lugged the grasshopper through the door and slammed it shut. I then swung my staff, on which the traditional Ozark carving began to glow a dull orange, and faced the oncoming source of the screams.

In my peripheral vision, I saw the Red-hair stiffen, and then turn to face the screaming as well. At the same time, I saw two figures jump out from behind the black van, flying towards the source of the screaming. Both were armed with swords, the classic single-edged katana, I think. One of them was clearly bald. The other had a hairstyle that I thought resembled what Cleopatra would wear, all Egyptian pharaoh.

A baker's dozen of monsters appeared, rushing towards the two figures. Behind appeared yet more monsters, all large, freakish, and all wearing a sort of mask, but shaped like the front part of some huge skull, if skulls could grin, and look too large to be human.

Red-hair stood there staring for a moment, like he was dumbstruck. He was ignoring me. Me, the wizard with the huge smoking staff now pointing the dangerous metaphysical icon of a wizard's power at him; he was ignoring me. That does not sit right. I was walking ever closer to him, and he didn't even react.

Just then, one of those huge monsters, which had probably strayed from the huge crowd which was somehow getting it decimated by two people, landed right in front of me, screaming out in a mix of animal and human sounds, eerie and horrible, much like a torture chamber, on all fours, its claws looking like they want blood. Mine.

I yelled back with my own roar. '_Fuego!_' Fire lashed out from the end of my staff, all over the monster. It screamed, lashing out those sharp claws at me, catching me on the leather duster.

Luckily, the spells I've cast on it held, and I managed to get the butt of my blasting rod out, and the dangerous end at it. '_Fuego!_'

Here, you'd be wondering why I didn't get the rod out first, as was standard operating procedure. The simple answer was that the monster had come at me so fast, and I've been off guard. Add the trauma of two more bodies, and you have one largely confused American professional wizard.

Whatever, the fiery blast impacted on the monster, sending it right back. It growled at me, before it disappeared.

Oh, neat veil. I closed my eyes for a moment, drew in my will, and opened my eyes with the Sight. The Sight is sort of like extrasensory vision, capable of seeing things as they truly are. Of course, whatever I see with it is ingrained into my memory forever, which is why I didn't really like it, and why I didn't use it all the time, and the same for all other wizards who have it. Looking for too long has a tendency to make people a bit unhinged. I cast it over the last spot I saw the thing, among the bright, clean houses along the suburban road that was Wrigley, expecting the monster.

I saw a somewhat translucent, human figure there. His face was contorted, tears dripping by the score, as he continued to fight against chains that had him weighed down, trailing infinitely around his thin frame, clothed in shirt and jeans, except that in the middle of his chest, over the sternum, was a big hole, through his body, as if someone had neatly drilled through his heart and pulled the damn thing out.

I felt his loneliness, sadness, rage, fear, and it all hit me. He was a ghost, a soul that had died from an extremely violent, psychic death, before his time should have come, and now he was left wandering the earth. His family members couldn't see him, and he'd tried to attract their attention, to no avail.

The figure ran at me, his hands clawing, tearing, into my very soul. I backtracked, but not before he grabbed at me.

There was a flash of light, and the hand fell off, the figure screaming as he waved his stump of a hand about. I turned to see Kurosaki, obvious with his orange hair, in the black pants I've seen Murphy wear in aikido practice before, along with something resembling a karate _gi_, except it was black as well, with a red plait running from the right shoulder to the left hip, the black ensemble stained with the blood and mud of battle, holding a big-ass cleaver that must have been the length of his body, the blade stained with blood. From the end of the handle trailed a length of white cloth.

He turned to look at me, and I nearly scarpered at his face. The left half was normal, the brown eyes somewhat determined. The right half of it was covered by a bone mask, which vaguely resembled a skull with two red stripes curving from the end of his eyebrow to the side, flaring out. The yellow pupils stood out against the whites, or blacks, of his eyes, and both were intent upon me.

The eyes are the windows to the soul. They shine out to people who you really are, and when two strangers make eye contact, they usually look away quickly. That's because if they look further, the barriers lower, allowing a glimpse of your true self to shine out, not because of any social awkwardness or whatever. I closed mine right then, not wanting to see anymore horror fests from this.

When I opened my eyes again, my Sight was gone. Kurosaki stood there in his black uniform, holding the big cleaver designed to cut meat with the minimum amount of force at the ready, as the monster he'd chopped began to dissolve, the particles blown off into the wind. 'Are you alright?' he asked, reaching a hand out, his normal, human features back in place, brown eyes also normal.

The eyes are the windows to the soul. I shut mine and accepted his help. 'I'm fine.'

No sooner than when I've said that, that another wounded monster collapsed next to me, and thus made a beeline the second it could get on it four feet for what could be the least prepared person there. Namely, me; how lucky. As it prepared to chomp on my head, a blast of pure white energy impacted on its head, killing the thing instantly.

I swivelled my head to the source of the blast, to see the spectacled guy from earlier, holding some sort of luminous bow, patterned like an octagonal spiderweb near his hand, where the heart of the bow should be.

'I'm fine.' I repeated.

You'd _think_ I'd know better by now.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Notice:**_

_**After this work the author will be on hiatus due to impending VIE (Very Important Examination) which requires a lot of time to study. Hence, do not expect any post up for the next few months. Thank you.**_

_**LLScribe

* * *

**_

'This is Renji,' Kurosaki introduced Red-hair later, when we were bundled safely in Charity's neat, gleaming, kitchen. 'And this is Ikkaku, with Yumichika beside him.' He motioned to Baldy and Pharaoh-Cut respectively. Pharaoh-Cut, I mean, Yumichika, had a yellow and pink feather sticking out from his right eyebrow. Great, another one to give Molly ideas, like the piercings and tats weren't enough.

I'm starting to sound old. Oh dear.

'Okay, so what are they here for, and what is going on this time?' I patiently asked, aware that Baldy was apparently armed with a sort of wooden katana, a bokken to be more exact, and it looked severely intimidating near them, even when I was in front of Charity, who clearly intimidated me much more than any muscle head.

It is at times that when you're more afraid of a mum than two hardened shinigami that you know you really gotta get your priorities straight.

'That is a very good question.' Kurosaki supplied, glaring at them as he translated. The bald one began to act up, half-yelling at Kurosaki, who was about to yell back when he caught Charity's glare and lowered his tone to something near speaking. Give it up for terrifying moms; they can intimidate the hell out of pretty much anything.

'Okay, Hitsugaya was looking for you in the city, and somehow he went missing, so Matsumoto went to find me, and hired me to find him, so effectively I thought that if I found you, I could find a lead to Hitsugaya, before you people cause the large amounts of property damage you tried last time.' I finished.

'Property damage?'

'There was this person called Byakuya, pulled in for somehow destroying a road, then managing to skip out on bail.' I clarified.

At that moment, Ichigo's face went through several expressions all ranging on shock first, with surprise a close second, and finishing off with an expression of trying not to laugh. 'H-he land-ded in j-a-ail?' the kid managed to choke out, before doubling over laughing, as the three other Shinigami showed blank expressions of confusion. At hearing Ishida's translation, the three of them all began laughing, especially Red-hair, who doubled over, knocking himself over top-over-teakettle onto Charity's kitchen floor, still laughing.

I snorted, scuffing the giggle down. There's a reason why comedy is so appreciated; it's not only easy to find, but easy to enjoy, and it's infectious.

'So, what are you?' I asked the orange-haired kid.

The conversation ground to a frosty halt at about the same time I realised that I spoke that out loud, which was pretty immediate.

Or, it could be the sudden appearance of Murphy in the kitchen. I mean, having a gun pointed at you can be a real conversation-stopper. Especially if it's done by a five-foot, blond-haired, kinda cute girl who happens to be the ex-head of the CPD's monster-hunters. Who happened to be glaring at me.

'Hi, Murph,' I said easily, 'Is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?'

'Dresden, Butters found a problem with the two bodies that he somehow forgot to cut open before you came,' Murphy replied, the gun notably pointing at Renji. 'And at the same time, some people here complained about an armed man with long red hair hollering outside this house, which is notably the house of Miss Carpenter, who is notably your apprentice. And when that sort of weird shit is called to SI, we know where you are.'

'Hey, that's not fair,' I complained. 'Other people have that sort of thing too.'

'It doesn't happen in an upscale suburban neighbourhood, and with a tall punk rocker wielding pump-action shotguns, Dresden,' Murphy sniffed. 'Someone's taking the heat for this.'

'Err…we were shooting an amateur movie, and the plot was concerning this mad gangster cum serial-killer that goes around killing people. Of course, Renji here is an actor, that shotgun was most definitely armed with blanks, not real bullets, and there was a hidden camera around, filming the entire scene?' Ichigo prompted.

'Were we?' I asked. Was there?

'No, it's a plausible excuse for the neighbours and for the police as to what we were doing, rather than what idiot Renji here was doing.' Ichigo replied, grinning.

Murphy stared at him for a long moment. 'Dresden,' she finally spoke, pointedly at me, 'what is going on?'

* * *

Murphy was even less than amused by the time we finished the story. This evidence took the form of a scowl and her claw marks on the table. She didn't even have long nails.

'So, the kid's body we have in the morgue doesn't belong to a kid, but rather an incredibly powerful god of death or something like that, and the other gods of death freaked out, and they want him back. So, the kid's babysitter sent you, the weird shit inspector, and four other death gods,' she nodded to the team of weird hairstyles, a.k.a Ichigo, Renji, Madarame, Yumichika, 'plus one human,' she inclined her head towards Ishida, 'to find this kid, otherwise the more powerful ones could come over and possibly turn the place upside down, creating general mayhem along the way.'

'Wow, Murph,' I said, 'have you ever considered a career in gisting?'

She ignored me. 'Therefore, Dresden, you, and at least two of them, are coming with me to see the nice dead body, because Butters found something in said body, and that something may be vital to locating the god's…soul? Spirit?'

'Yeah, something like that.' I helpfully replied.

'And since we cannot obviously bring the body out of the morgue, you are going there to look at it, or else we're in deep shit, oh wise wielder of nature's forces.' Murphy finished.

'Well, it beats waking up in there,' I joked.

* * *

The Blue Beetle was nearly packed to bursting by the mere presence of Ichigo and Ishida. As to why Murphy made me bring them, I don't know. Maybe it's something to do with her quip: 'As far as I can tell, sending the teenagers is much safer than sending two testosterone-laden muscleheads and one peacock.' Somehow, I see her point. Although honestly, I'd rather have a musclehead along; you can hide behind them as they beat the crap out of people attacking me.

As I stuck the key into ignition, I caught Murphy grinning. 'No clown car jokes.' I warned.

'It's a VW Bug, Dresden. I think the clowns use Volvo these days,' she quipped back. I sighed, started up the car, and drove off, the ancient engine leaving Murphy in exhaust as it put-put-puttered away.

'You know, you haven't answered my question.' I said, as I drove on. 'Er…Ishida, was it?'

'Yes, Mister Dresden.' The blue-haired boy replied sullenly.

'Nice bow there,' I commented. 'Are you a wizard?'

'No,' he replied, 'A Quincy.'

'How nice,' I said without thinking. 'And you're here because…'

'I'm on a student exchange programme.'

'And…'

'Is there anything else to say?' Ishida sounded like that teacher I had in fifth grade.

Somehow, that idea kept me stumped with its various implications all the way to the morgue.

By the time I had worked out what that implied of me as a sudden reversion to a childhood situation, we were standing in the morgue.

Okay, political correctors, the Forensic Institute. How many times I had actually come here, I can't remember. As for how many times I brought a teenager, once. And I got hell from her mother for that. Now, as for how I got two students barely of age through the security guard? I would've liked to say I used magic, but the fact was, I just passed them off as people come to identify the body. They helped by looking unnaturally grave, and in Ichigo's case, scowling grimly. The guard waved us through without a backward glance.

Butters was there in the examination room, the eviscerated body laid out in front of me on the enamel-topped examination table. Not odd enough? The body's sternum was alight with a strange violet flame, almost like foxfire, but more…exothermic.

'Tried to cut the body open,' Butters began to babble, barely noticing that behind me were two teenagers, which definitely looked out of place here. 'When the scalpel touched skin, the skin just started…burning. I don't think that's normal for any corpse, so I called…'

'Me, I know. Unfortunately, I, the weird shit merchant, can't do this alone, so I brought…them.' I indicated the two behind me. 'However, I can conclude that this was one of the Sidhe, probably high up seeing as they look human, which means one of the lords of Faerie. Also, I can infer that the vic was male, given that well, he's…got the guy parts, mostly, but also that…' I sniffed the air, 'he's wearing aftershave and something very much like Old English Leather.'

God, the look on their faces was priceless. Let's see MasterCard buy _that_. Or was it Visa? Not really relevant knowledge, given that I hardly ever use credit cards –fine, never-, since being a wizard pretty much finishes off any electronic device in my immediate area. Such as the magnetic strip on credit cards.

'Oh, that. I'm wearing the aftershave, not the body.' Butters wryly answered. 'I'm also wearing the cologne, Harry. Besides, I'm pretty sure being dead sort of defeats the purpose of wearing cologne, since the end result of that is laced with formaldehyde.'

I stared at him, hardly daring to believe my ears. There's hardly any reason for an ME to wear cologne to work, not unless… 'Butters, do you have a _date_?'

Butters bristled, something that made him look less of a harmless ME and more of someone who worked with the dead on a regular basis. A good example is Dr Viktor Frankenstein, creator of the superzombie that killed his own fiancé. 'Harry, I actually have a life, you know.'

'The geek gets a date. And I don't.' I said. 'This does not compute.'

Actually, he might be on to something. Although technically I'm not forty yet, I have about as many, if not more, injuries than most boxers twice my age. Being the only Warden cum professional weird shit inspector aka wizard in the greater Chicago area would do that to you too. In my normal state, I look like a train wreck. Although some would say I look like ten miles of bad road. Then some more say I look like a dandelion. If I really let myself go, as I've done previously, I think one could see the living dead in the form of Harry Dresden walking around.

Fortunately, I was rescued by my spate of depression concerning my zombie impersonation when the flame on the body sputtered, coughed, and turned a nice cobalt colour. 'Cute,' I muttered, as the two teens stared at the flame. 'Okay, Butters, you'll need the fire extinguisher. People, stay away from the cadaver flambé. Now, at three, two, one…'

I had almost forgotten the door was right behind me when the entire damn thing flew out of its frame, slamming into my back. Driven by the kinetic force, my body obeyed the laws of physics and was duly carried off to slam into the trolley thing full of sharp, pointy metal objects associated with cutting up dead bodies. Thinking positively, at least I didn't get poked by any.

As, I pulled myself up, wincing as the pain got acquainted with my nerve endings and nervous system, I noticed three things:

First, the body's flame had changed colour from cobalt to a pale, pale cerulean, as the temperature dropped about a few more degrees, which is agreeably damn difficult and creepy in a morgue.

Secondly, Ishida was now holding energy in a sort of bow and arrow poised to shoot, except that his hands were definitely sweating, even in such abnormally cold temperatures.

Thirdly, the person who threw the door at me was an incongruously beautiful girl with perfect, adolescent features. She was perfection itself, with extra youth on the side, wearing an extremely cut-off, extremely tight jeans, where she had hacked the extra pant off. Over the belt line she wore a white cotton T-shirt proclaiming _The 40__th__ Unofficial Spanish Marathon: Eating, Drinking and F***king Grand Champion!_ She was, or would have, been perfect, if not that I could see her eyes, feel what she was, and know how dangerous she was. Her eyes were green, a deep vivid viridian, and the cat's slits of her pupils dilated to an unnatural degree. She was the Unseelie Lady, She Who Is Yet to Come of the Winter Court of the Sidhe, deputy monarch of the Unseelie Fae, the princess of Air and Darkness, for all I know. She was one of the six most powerful of the high Sidhe, understudy of the wickedness of the Winter Queen, the Winter Lady.

And, I had pissed her off before.

Maeve, her perfect features bound in a smile cruel as a knife, licked her lips as her eyes focused on me. 'Hello, wizard, I've come for what is mine. And what shall be my compensation.'

Oh, and…

Butters, still holding the fire extinguisher poised to fire, blinked at me. 'So do I still fire?'

* * *

_**Still, do review, please. **_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Beyond all reason, this has managed to gain 46 and more alerts. That is really phenomenal. Thank you ever so much!  


* * *

**_

How do I say it? The scene just...froze there, none of us moving even an inch, Butters still holding the fire extinguisher poised at the corpse candle, Ishida pointing the business end of the glowing bow towards the extremely dangerous Winter Lady, Kurosaki dropping into a fighting stance I vaguely recognised as karate. Good thought. The idea of two powerhouses, i.e. the _shinigami _and the Sidhe Queen throwing down and having it out right here would probably kill us.

"A Lord of Winter is dead and lying on that table, wizard," Maeve hissed at me, and I could vaguely feel the room temperature plummet further. "A vassal of Winter lies dead, and the only possible culprit is you, or that little Japan reaper. I demand that the body of my vassal be released to mine care."

Oh, stars and freaking stones. The near reaches of the Nevernever, that whole universe outside the fabric of reality where most of the monsters reside, is ruled by the Sidhe, who control Faerie, the largest part of the Nevernever. The White Council of wizards have a current understanding with the Unseelie Queen for right of path through the Ways of Winter territory. If right now, a Winter Lord is dead, and in Chicago, better yet, right under my nose, it could mean that the Winter Court could demand compensation from the White Council, or rather, me.

"Erm...would you like to sign out the body?" Butters helpfully offered, still holding the fire extinguisher. Maeve gave him a look that could have come from Victorian times. The 'we are not amused' one.

"Sorry, we need to keep it, Butters. Search for forensic evidence and all that," I told him, before turning to Maeve. "Lady Maeve," I put on my best diplomatic face and attitude, "we will investigate this case. We will try to find the murderer. Is that okay?"

That cruel apparent anger smoothed itself out into a mask of unearthly beauty, the green catlike eyes immediately blank as it wandered around. It wasn't apparent, but I think I could see a tiny shiver pass through those eyes. I think, since faeries defy any and all sort of human logic and understanding anyway, but frankly, if I was a faerie, and I walked into a place full of cold iron, I'd be scared too, stuck in a place full of the bane of fae.

"Mr. Dresden, who is she?" Ishida asked me. I gave him ten points, five for asking the question so calmly, and another five for keeping his aim true on Maeve. A Faerie Queen is bad news, and even one of the weakest Queens could take me out on a good day. I'd killed one Faerie Queen before, but it was one of the weakest Queens, and even then, if she'd been focused on killing me, she could have done so without breaking a sweat. For now, the predatory Lady was at bay, but for how long?

"A Quincy," she stated, somewhat puzzled. "I thought your kind was dead." then her eyes turned to the orange-haired youth, studying him with some interest. "You keep interesting acquaintances, wizard."

"Comes with the job, I guess," I told her, motioning to Butters for the fire extinguisher, hoping that he got the message instead of drooling over the glamour of the high sidhe.

"True, but I would never have expected a human to achieve the power of the _shinigami_. What power..." she breathed, and I decided that even for an evil faerie, or sort of, she was an awfully...curved one, if a bit too youthful.

"Tell me, little _shinigami, _how old are you?" she murmured, strolling step by slow step towards Kurosaki, putting in a little extra hip action such that said hips swayed sensually and very noticeably in that extra tight jeans.

"Er...fifteen?" Kurosaki stuttered, attempting not to notice her...um, assets.

"So young, and so powerful...tell me, are you experienced, hmm?" The fact that the Winter Lady didn't wear a bra was becoming even more apparent as she stepped even closer. "Do you want to know how?"

The faerie glamour was becoming even more obvious, Maeve playing on the fact that the boy was young and just coming into adulthood, on his raging hormones and such to draw him in. The sidhe beauty would hypnotise him, until he'd have to give in, or until he fought it, and even then that was difficult. That beauty would whisper and plead until they got it on or something, and then, after that, the pain begins.

Or it would have, if Kurosaki hadn't picked up a scalpel to ward her off. "No thanks, lady." Then he threw it.

Just then, I received a heavy weight on my outstretched hand and knew that Butters got the message.

Maeve flew, or even ran backwards, away from the faerie bane towards the doorway, then stopped, hissing at us. "Find the murderer and hand him over, wizard, or else I will take recompense from you."

"Nope, you won't," I told her, before throwing the fire extinguisher at her, a two-kilo weight of cylinder filled with foam and made of solid steel. It probably wasn't what humans mean by 'cold iron', but it was iron, the bane or faeries. She disappeared before the container could hit, the heavy weight clunking harmlessly onto the tiled floor, the sound making that weird deep bell-like echo as it landed.

* * *

"Damn. I hate it when fairies are involved," I muttered as I bent down to pick the fire extinguisher up.

"That was a fairy?" Ishida asked with some surprise. Kurosaki's expression mirrored it almost perfectly.

"High sidhe. That was the Winter Lady, apparently bitching about how her squeeze was murdered." I tried to keep my speech light-hearted, but the ramifications of the case kept echoing in my head.

_Find the murderer and hand him over, wizard, or else I will take recompense from you..._

Maeve didn't like me, partly because I, in modern parlance, dissed her in front of some of her own people. In fairness, I'd feel pissed too if I was told that a child could do better than me, which on hindsight wasn't the best thing to say to a psycho faerie who was at the same time one of the six Faerie Queens who ruled the near reaches of the Nevernever, but then again, that was what, a few years ago? Faeries have long lives, so long that the sidhe are pretty much immortal, so they have a great tendency to forget the existences of such temporary things such as mortals, but apparently Maeve has a pretty long memory. Which sucked for me, because if I screwed this up, I would get a debt owed to a psycho faerie _again_, who would collect it with extreme prejudice.

"How did you resist the glamour?" I asked the two of them, curious. "faeries have this whole sex appeal thing that should brainwash most people, how did you resist it?"

Kurosaki shrugged. "I had a psycho instructor who made it a point to strip naked when I was in a hot spring and sit on my lap. And it was a woman. After that, I pretty much got desensitized."

"I had a classmate who made it a point to hug me as a way of greeting and she had an F-cup, and my face would always get stuck between those boobs," Ishida said tiredly. "I think I got scared off women from her."

I stared at the both of them with what must have been a sense of pity. If I had to go through that, I think I'd get scared off women altogether.

* * *

Butters performed the autopsy while we waited outside for the results. I thought it better as I'd really rather not traumatise two teenagers with the insides of a sidhe body which, to all intents, is eerily similar to a human body except a few, ahem, features.

So, while I was waiting, I tried to simplify the chain of events. I was paid to look for a powerful child _shinigami_ in the greater Chicago area. Said _shinigami_ was suspected of murdering one of the Winter Lords, Gancanaugh if my analysis was correct, though it was kinda hard to see amongst the bruises on the body. If I don't find Hitsugaya, a war might start for reasons I wasn't privy to, and if I didn't prove that Hitsugaya didn't do it, and yet find the person that _did_ do it, Maeve would hang me out, and the Council would let her anyway, seeing as not only was I not very well liked by the more conservative members, which is pretty much most of the senior bureaucracy of the Council, the White Council of Wizards needed the support of the Winter Court of the Sidhe to gain passage through the Ways of Faerie and thus, survive the ongoing war with the Vampire Red Court, even in the ceasefire called now. So, I had to find the culprit, and hopefully it isn't Hitsugaya, or the _shinigami_ might just declare war on the Winter Court or vice versa, which would kinda screw up the delicate balance of power between the head signatories of the Unseelie Accords, the supernatural version of a UN Charter, the faerie Summer and Winter Courts. The result may end up like what happens if the Cuban Missile Crisis got explosive, with the 'Hallelujah! World War Three is coming!' and everything.

Having summarised it like this, I feel like fate hates me. It's like if I do nothing, trouble would take the trouble to screw up my life anyway. It's not that I hate being a wizard, or that I hate how my life is never boring, always packed with some trouble of a supernatural kind in a world where hardly anyone believes in magic any more...it's just, sometimes, it'll be nice to get a day off or two.

"Our faerie died from sword wounds, apparently gotten in a sword fight; the wounds are like it was inflicted with a super-sized knife," Butters announced, pulling off what must have been disinfected latex gloves. "He had defensive wounds, so we assume he was conscious and not tied up throughout the whole fight. The bruises indicate that the other guy hit him, and hard, too,or that amount of bruising couldn't happen, which meant that the murderer was someone of really great physical strength. I wouldn't think a kid could do that, it can't be the kid."

"I wouldn't say that, Butters," I replied. "Physical strength isn't proportional to size among the supernatural. I've seen huge monsters unable to lift a toothpick, and tiny little short things crush concrete with a thought." It was a sort of truth there.

"You're kidding," Butters's face had gone pale.

"Well, it only happens in certain exceptions," I gave in. "In most cases, size is pretty proportional to strength, and small things are faster, thus applying more acceleration to their mass to create a greater force."

"Newton's second law?" Ishida asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Physics is kinda hard to argue against sometimes." I told him.

"Okay, I don't care, point being, he was beaten up, roughed up somewhat, then killed with a cut from the sword across the carotid artery." Butters motioned out the spot. "He would have died of exsanguination within seconds. But the kid's body contains nothing to indicate how he'd die, it's just like it's stopped breathing."

"Frankly, Butters, I'd rather not worry about that. Thanks anyway," I said, moving towards the front of the Forensic Institute. "You've been a great help."

"Yeah well, you'll do me a favour and leave," he distractingly told me.

I felt my eyebrows rise in disbelief. "Butters, by any chance is your date...?"

"Oh, you're here," Butters stated with obvious relief and I turned around to see the _date_ in question. She was shorter than me, as most people were, with sweet, motherly Asian features, long plaited black hair and _whoa. _What curves. The outfit she was wearing emphasised it without being over-the-top and did it well, too. The fact that there was no other woman, or man, even, in sight led me to conclude that this Eastern goddess was Butters's _date._

It was almost enough to make me question the existence of God.

That was, if Kurosaki hadn't jumped up and tried to yell: "Unohana _Tai-" _before some distinctly scary aura began projecting from her, forcing him to shut up. I noted that Kurosaki seemed to be eyeing her with fear. _Interesting_.

The evil aura wasn't really anything evil, per say, anything like the psycho Denarians I've met acquaintance with before. It was more like what happens when a defenceless creature was confronted with the biggest and baddest predator on the block; it would freeze in terror, knowing that even one wrong move would ensure it's death in any unimaginable way. A chainsaw murderer had nothing on that woman.

"Erm, Harry, let me introduce you," Butters looked decidedly nervous. "Harry, this is Retsu Unohana. Ms. Unohana, this is Mister Harry Dresden, Chicago's resident professional wizard."

I forgave Butters for that jibe, on account on how he had a hot date. If I had a date like that, I'd probably want to make other guys seem weird too. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Unohana." I told her.

"The sentiments are returned, Mr. Dresden," she replied, bowing. "Ah, you r acquaintances seem familiar. We've never met before, right?" this was said with an airy tone in her low, sweet voice, but I could tell that there was a subtle emphasis directed at the two teenagers there.

"Yes, we've never met before," Ishida chipped in, too falsely bright and cheerful to be real, grabbing Kurosaki by the neck to shut him up from coughing, or from laughing, I couldn't tell. "Oh, we may seem familiar, yeah, we're both from Japan, but really, we've never met, oh no, ma'am, never." This was said as Ishida manhandled Kurosaki, dragging the orange-haired teen by the head down the hallway and towards the stairwell in a miracle of the strength granted to humans in a case of intimidation, such as this.

"Teenagers," I told them, turning away to catch up with the fast disappearing teenagers before the sympathy show could begin, as it was wont to do.

* * *

_**The next scene will be funny, so keep stay tuned!**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**The plot thickens, and soon it'll boil! **_

_**My muse, the leanan sidhe, apparently sees fit to go holidaying while I attempt to overcome writer's block in time for this fic. I would complain if she hadn't compensated duly...**_

_**

* * *

**_

I caught up with them outside the Forensic Institute by the Blue Beetle, Kurosaki attempting not to laugh out loud, Ishida doing likewise.

"I assume you know who is Butters's _date_," I growled at them. The injustice of it still rankled.

"Nonsense, we've never met before," Ishida attempted to deny in that falsely cheery voice, but it was clearly obvious, while Kurosaki was still doubled over as we tried to squeeze into the mighty Beetle.

"Erm, Mr Dresden, I've never actually bothered to notice, but what happened to your car's interior?" he asked again, looking at the old cardboard upholstery I've stuck into the Beetle as if he had never noticed it until now.

"Mold demons." I didn't bother to elaborate. Or change the subject back either. Something told me that Retsu Unohana was a very scary woman to cross, if she could terrify a Quincy like this. I mean, a Quincy?

Okay, a Quincy, as I've covered in my magical studies, most assuredly _not_ at Hogwarts, but at home, no matter what jokes concerning magical education _or_ the Harry Potter series you try to concoct, is a sort of combat-oriented sorcerer who uses magic primarily to deal with things from the Nevernever. They use combat magic, which involves anything from thaumaturgy to evocation, except with more evocation involves, i.e. more explosive results. In other words, a real bad-ass Warden to the things they deal with.

There was only one thing about the Quincy; they had been killed off and supposedly… extinct for the past two centuries under mysterious circumstances. Apparently, the Quincy were still alive and kicking, if only one of them were.

Then there was the mystery of Kurosaki. Other than the fact that I could feel the power radiating off him, he was human. He was definitely human. How do I say it, he just feels human. Being a wizard grants us senses that lets us differentiate humans from the supernatural beings, so Kurosaki was definitely human, other than the extremely literally terrifying visage of his soul.

What on earth was that mask I cannot fathom. I can only imagine what kind of psychological trauma he had undergone if his spirit looked like that, ranging from the theory that he had turned into a monster by some demon lord or sorcerer, to that he was a scion of the Nevernever. A scion is the result of a mortal and a being of the Nevernever coming together, in the messy sort of way. Most of them turned out as freakish or with some clear trait differentiating them from humans, but there have been normal scions before. I knew one who would have passed for human if I hadn't spotted him with my Sight. He could snipe a head off from a thousand yards away, but we're missing the point, that I couldn't begin to fathom how did Kurosaki get that way?

I decided that I didn't care about whether my acquaintance was a scion or a monster; the important thing was whether I could trust them with my back. With that face-off with Maeve, I have proven that I could trust them not to kill me in any imaginable way, what they were and their background wasn't my business, and I should get to locating Hitsugaya before the psycho sidhe Lady decided to seek recompense from me in a horribly painful way. The Winter Sidhe has ways of torture enough to make one wish for death, I would know; I've seen the last Winter Knight turned traitor on his Queens. Let us just say that even for a first-class menace to society like that one, even angels would weep for him.

So, on to the problem of locating Hitsugaya. To solve it, I immediately drove to the nearest pizza place.

* * *

"Mr. Dresden, our lives so far have been very interesting, but this is the first time I have ever seen _pizza_ involved in a missing person's search." Ishida said this cringe-worthy statement with a straight face as he hauled the four boxes of pizza, with the help of Kurosaki, down one of the alleys of Second City.

"Nonsense, almost anything can be used in magic," I cheerfully told them. "Now, I need you both to cover your ears."

"Why?" they asked almost in unison.

"Because I am going to say something to the pizza and I don't want you to hear it." and I broke off, silently staring at them to make my point. They got the point and covered their ears.

Now, typically, tracking down a missing person using a tracking spell requires something from the person, hair or nail clippings or blood, or blood of the parents. However, the ongoing war combined with the paranoia so inherent to those who can command the forces of nature has forced me to consider the problem of tracking a person without aforementioned...personal effects. An item personal to them would do, but if I didn't have any of those, well then, that is when the admittedly excellent Polaroid and four boxes of pizza comes into play.

Leaving the stack of boxes on the alley floor with the topmost box open, I cupped my hands and, with the tiniest effort of will, whispered the Name, the true Name, of the dewdrop faery I had a sort of agreement with. I whispered it again, and again, and just one last time for good measure. Unlike last time, I didn't have to use blood on the pizza to bind the little faery to my will; he already knew I was dealing in good faith.

True enough, what looked to be a small blue comet zipped up through the alleyway, making a beeline for the box. I held out my hand and, to gasps from the two, scooped up the little comet.

"Whoa, there, Toot, how long is it since your last pizza?" I joked with the little faery I just scooped into my right hand. He was about six inches tall at last count, and glowed with blue light. He was dressed kinda like a G.I. Joe figure, if G.I. Joe had silver dragonfly wings, wore things fashioned from scraps of fabric and held a shield of an old aluminium bottle cap, with a weapon of an orange box knife, sheathed carefully with cardboard to protect its fae wielder. Toot-toot, the name the faery went by, was like a tiny human, except for that his face held a beauty that was a distant echo of the lords of Faerie, the sidhe, and that reminded me that he was of a servitor race.

I always thought Hitler could learn something from the Faerie hierarchy.

The familiar squeak started, with the occasional scattering of silver faery dust as Toot stood at attention: "Major-General Toot-toot Minimus, reporting to the 'Za Lord for duty, sir, yes sir!"

I distinctly felt my neck burn from the odd looks Kurosaki and Ishida were giving me, but I ignored it and asked anyway. "At ease, soldier," I decided to humour the faery, then adding "And where did you learn _that?_"

"Soldier film movie marathon at a certain drive-in, milord!" came the enthusiastic reply.

"Right," I said, drawing it out. "I have a mission for you and the Guard, Toot."

"Yessir!" That kid's squeak enthusiastically replied. "Before or after the pizza, milord?"

"Erm...they can take the pizza, and then they can find that person I'd want the Guard to find after finishing the pizza. Try to get as many faeries as possible while you're at it, Toot." I decided.

"Gotcha, Harry." Then Toot paused, studying the pizza pile. "I don't think that's enough for the Guard _and_ the Militia."

"Please," I put on my winning smile to the two stunned youngsters, which frankly, I was told once, made me look creepy, "do me a favour and pick up the other four boxes I've left in the Beetle."

"I'll go," Kurosaki replied uneasily, still looking at Toot as if he'd never seen a dewdrop faery before as he turned away to walk to the Beetle. Another score in the human section for him; the Little Folk are all around, but most of us hardly ever see them. They're everywhere, and they're hell on wheels when properly motivated, hence the pizza. Faeries love pizza, a fact I discovered about ten years ago, now that I think about it.

"The car's not locked,' I called after him. "There, problem solved, Toot. Now get the Guard _and_ Militia, please?" I added the last bit nicely; manners cost me nothing and pretty much smoothed the whole process of asking the faery for help.

"Yessir!" Toot, for lack of a better word, squeaked before zooming up to the sky in a shower of silver faery dust.

"Mr Dresden?" Ishida finally seemed to have found his voice, presumably after open-mouthedly seeing the faery zoom off.

"Yes?"

"Why do you keep your car unlocked?"

"Who would steal from it?" I asked.

"Good point," he acknowledged, just as Kurosaki came back with another stack of boxes with a garish pizza logo printed on the top and sides and, quite possibly, the bottom.

"Mr Dresden, there was a man by your car earlier and he asked if he could offer me a deal for a better car," Kurosaki said, still confused. "Oh, and he also mentioned that looking at your car, he already feels better for not owning one. Why are you laughing?"

"It's nothing, nothing, it's just that...well...people don't seem to like the Beetle much, do they?" I stifled a bubble of laughter while saying that.

"I think it's less to do with the Volkswagen Bug and more to do with your car's condition," Ishida helpfully pointed out.

"Hey, you can't get anything cuter than a Bug. Didn't you see that movie...nope, guess not."

"Which one?" Ishida's face wore an expression of long suffering common to most people exposed to me. I guess it's something to do with my smart mouth.

* * *

It was only ten minutes later that the eight opened pizza boxes were covered with a shower of faery dust of varying shades of various colours of a glittery rainbow as the local population of faeries, knowing how I would leave pizza for them, came for the Italian baked treat. Faeries like bread, milk and honey, too, but pizza was an easier alternative for them and me. Them, because they aren't enthusiastic about getting into a beehive for the honey, and that there's been a dearth on milk in the Nevernever since the conception of high-tech dairy farms, and that they can't actually get an oven to bake bread; me because for this many faeries, eight pizzas was better for my anorexic wallet than bread, milk and honey. I swear, the price of honey keeps going up...

The two teenagers stared unabashedly as the faeries attacked the pizzas much like enthusiastic sharks with fresh victims, except with all the glitter and all, while I waited patiently for the faeries to finish eating. I had full confidence that they would keep their promises; they're faeries. Faeries have to keep their promises, as broken promises have a sort of energy feedback that would manifest itself physically and painfully on them, which is a huge deterrent to broken promises, a deterrent such that faeries can't even lie outright. This would make them quite honest, except that the Sidhe could talk in riddles and allusions that would make even the most hardcore prosecutor weep for mercy. Luckily, the dewdrop fae have neither the intelligence nor the attention span necessary for such a thing.

When, finally, the last victim...er, I mean, pizza, was eaten up, Toot-toot flew before me and stationed himself there. "Your mission, milord!"

I produced the Polaroid of Hitsugaya for Toot's study. "I want you to lead the faeries to find this kid and tell me his location, better yet, lead him to me, in exchange for the pizza you've just devoured. Is that okay?"

"Very good, sir!" he squeaked, studying the photo. "But why are you looking for a _shinigami_, especially for him?"

I blinked in surprise. "You know this kid?" I asked incredulously. "He's the person I'm supposed to find for my client."

"We generally steer clear of the harbingers, after all none of us have a death wish." Toot concluded. "We better make this fast, or death will come upon this city, Harry?"

I was almost afraid to ask the next question. "Why would that happen?"

As if on cue, I heard a scream, followed by a woman's shriek of fury and defiance and rage, the shield maiden's roar that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It was a harpy's shriek, a scream for courage from a land of warriors and violence, now lost in the mists of time. The very same shriek of a Chooser of the slain, the Valkyrie.

A harbinger of death.

"Be gone, _shinigami_!" Sigrun's shriek echoed around, as my magical senses were immediately buffeted with an outpouring of magic. Actually, at that moment, I could feel the undefinable rage of the Valkyrie as she screeched, which was akin to magic. Magic comes from within, our emotions, our beliefs, rather than our logic, so an outpouring of emotion is magical, and as such would register on my senses. Right now, the local Valkyrie was pissed at my client.

"You do not belong here!" Ms. Gard of the Monoc Foundation continued to yell, the sound getting louder than before. "Go back East, _shinigami,_ this is not your place. The West has no place for the Oriental harbingers!"

"What did I do, what did I do, what did I do?" Matsumoto wailed as she, for lack of a better word, _teleported _down the alleyway we were currently in to our general direction.

"Anyway, find the kid and then go wait for me outside my apartment building to tell me of any news received through he Guard." I added hurriedly to Toot. "I've got a feeling that if I don't settle this everything's going to FUBAR."

"Right, good luck, Harry," Toot gave me a look that might have been sympathetic before zooming off in a cloud of silver sparkles.

The two finally seemed to realise now that an irate Valkyrie was coming. "What was that?" they both asked in unison, presumably about the Valkyrie. Or possibly the faerie.

I took a deep breath, and prepared to attempt to talk reason into a berserker-gang Valkyrie out for a _shinigami_'s blood. Now who says my life isn't interesting?

* * *

_**I apologise if any faeries were insulted by this chapter.**_

_**'going to FUBAR' is slang for a troublesome situation. A synonymous phrase is 'shit hitting the fan' or 'clusterfuck'. The latter is wholly inappropriate for polite conversation. DO NOT DO THIS AT HOME.**_

_**For your information, I plan to make this a fic where there is such a class of job such a 'harbinger of death'. I can already imagine the jokes to be derived from this. **_

_**Please read and review!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**I am an amateur author of false name**_

_**I borrow worlds of another's fame**_

_**I stake no claim on recognised locations**_

_**Nor do I own canon situations.**_

_**I merely come to spend a while,**_

_**Reading others' work; writing my own style.**_

_**I earn no money, no wage, no dosh.**_

_**I gain no finance, no revenue, no cash.**_

_**I do not mean to step on legal toes,**_

_**I mean no infringement; I am friend, not foe.**_

_**So please, do come in, relax, unwind.**_

_**I hope, in my work, enjoyment you will find.**_

_**

* * *

**_

I was slumped against a brick wall in an alleyway in some part of Second City, while close to me a Valkyrie was dealing with the bald _shinigami_ wielding what looked like a _naginata,_ that is, a long stick like a staff with a sharp blade on top, broken in threes and attached end to end with chains, both executing moves that wouldn't have looked out of place in a Bruce Lee movie. How did I get against the wall? Why, I was thrown, rather forcefully I might add, by the supernaturally strong Valkyrie who didn't take the time to pull her punches, which therefore resulted in what looked like my silhouette in the brick wall and me slumped against said brick wall, which, I might add, _hurt_.

Oh, I'm making that mistake of detective novels, the one where Sherlock Holmes would say that I was telling the story backwards instead of telling it from the beginning. Even if I claimed that I had just been thrown into a freaking brick wall, the resulting story would still be confusing to any other reader than myself, so, I will retell what I had accidentally omitted here as a result of having been thrown into a freaking brick wall.

No, I'm not sensitive. I'm not, honest. I'm not pissed that these messengers of death saw me as something to throw into a brick wall out of the way while they had at each other. Really. Even though I frankly should be offended by the fact that they were throwing me, the freaking local Warden commander of half of the freaking United States, into the sidelines, self-preservation won out. I have _not_ survived several supernatural events that proved danger to life and limb, mostly mine, only to get killed in a crossfire between two harbingers of death.

Anyway, the Valkyrie appeared, running after Matsumoto with a battle-axe I had been acquainted with before, not lethally, I assure you, and what looked like a straight double-edged sword in its scabbard hanging on a belt round her waist. Tall, blonde, and beautiful in the sports model sense of the word, Sigrun, better known as Ms. Gard of Monoc Securities, was like a hound baying for blood as the Valkyrie dashed after the _shinigami_. Some part of me wanted to help Matsumoto; curse the suicidal chivalric tendencies. Rather foolishly, I decided later, I dashed up to meet the _shinigami_.

The hint that something was really going wrong came in the form of a battle-axe. I kid you not; my common sense was on holiday when Gard had made it very clear that she did _not_ like Matsumoto. I only got the hint when the battle-axe's was millimetres from my knee when Gard threw the accursed thing. I swear, one of my nose hairs got cut as the freaking axe cut through air to land embedded into the alley's concrete ground as Matsumoto ran past me.

At least she didn't curse the axe. I don't think I could take the axe exploding in my face, like it did last time to an unfortunate ghoul. Wizards don't have the supernatural toughness of ghouls.

Matsumoto turned around and, with a spoken word and a flick of the wrist, threw what looked liked a lightning bolt at Gard, who easily dodged it only to move closer, pull he axe out of the concrete and turn to Matsumoto, raising the axe, ready for blood.

Before the literal axe fell, I, before realising it, had moved between the two fighting women and placed my staff up to block it. Before you ask, yes, it was scary to jump between two harbingers of death and block one of them. It was also painful for my arms; Gard was a strong woman. And when I say _strong,_I mean the kind of strong which feature juggling compact cars type. Either that or capable of bench-pressing elephants.

"What are you doing, Dresden?" Gard hissed at me as Matsumoto got out of the way behind me.

"I'm protecting my client, that's what," my snarky mouth answered. Although frankly, I think it's something to do with my stupid chivalry. Like I've said before, I'm an old-fashioned gentleman, mostly, and when I see a woman getting hurt, I have a _slight _tendency to go Kubrickan on someone's skull. Me Harry. Me wizard. Me bash in your skull with magic stick to defend Jane, you get the idea. Gard was a woman, but she was a woman who was currently holding an axe pretty close to my skull. Special circumstances and all that.

"Anyway, what's up with the axe?" I asked her, as calmly as you could ask anyone standing before a big-ass axe.

"She's a Eastern harbinger, and Eastern harbingers stay in the East, not come to our territory, Dresden," Gard snarled as she tried to move over, but my staff blocked her way.

"Well, that's kinda racist, don't you think, Gard? Come on, you're going to kill her just for stepping into America?" I briefly shook my head in disbelief. "First of all, Gard, this city doesn't belong to you alone. Secondly, this is a free country. And, finally, Gard, she's just here to find a kid. Okay, a very powerful kid, but frankly a kid. She'll be out soon, so really, there's no need to kill anyone."

"You don't understand, Dresden," Gard honest-to-god growled at me. "We hate each other. We'll gladly kill each other. This is our way, that the east stays east, the west stays west, and whoever dies in the respective direction will go to whoever in the bloody direction. The only universal agent of death is a bloody angel, now get out of my way!"

This last part was punctuated by Gard shoving me aside to get to Matsumoto. And, I gotta add, being shoved straight into a brick wall hurt, as the wall cracked ominously around me. If it wasn't for my spell-reinforced duster, which I had had the foresight to strengthen the spells on recently (hooray for paranoia), I'd be wearing a full body cast in the hospital drinking throw a straw.

As I lifted my head up, I saw that Baldy...I mean, Ikkaku, dressed in what looked to be a black martial art outfit, had turned up and kicked Gard about ten feet back, allowing Matsumoto to scramble towards my direction, while he yelled what sounded disturbingly like an anatomically impossible thing and a few words that turned the sword he was holding into a _naginata_. Gard eloquently screamed at him and charged.

As I lay there, stunned and aching as the pain caught up with me bit by bit, I reflected on the odds of a private dick being bodily flung into a wall. The results were not very promising; so far, I seem to be the only professional wizard private detective to meet mortal peril in about eight out of ten cases, and there seemed to be an inverse proportion going on as to the danger involved in a case and how much I was being paid for solving said case. Furthermore, my jobs seem to be getting weirder the longer I stick to this occupation. This does not bode well for my health, wealth or sanity.

And that was how I ended up slumped near the wall, hurting all over.

"That must've hurt," Matsumoto told me as she approached. "Ikkaku is dealing with her for the moment, until we can get a more reasonable higher-up to handle diplomatic relations. I'm afraid that there's a bit of enmity between the East and West at the moment. Well, ever since World War Two. The Americans dying in the Far East doesn't help it."

I stared at her.

"What?" She said defensively, crossing her arms such that her best assets were emphasised. I could almost feel my eyes glaze over.

"That. Was. The. Most. Absurd. Understatement. I. Have. Ever. Heard." I enunciated each and every word clearly. I felt kinda dumb after the last word.

"Okay, we hate each other's guts for no really good reason ever since the dawn of time," Matsumoto amended. "Sometimes we quarrel over which souls go to which after life, that sort of thing, and then there's the occasional case where a particular soul is targeted by one or more gods...what?"

"This..." I motioned towards the fighting pair, Ikkaku executing what in wrestling terms looked like an extremely painful air plane spin and body slam, only to be foiled by Gard's twisting at the last second to minimize impact and yet kick him pretty close to a sensitive part of the male anatomy. Ow. "...has happened more than once?"

"Yeah, the last time gods of death clash was back in...the nineteen thirties or forties, I think, over some Capone guy," Matsumoto shrugged as she laid hands over my bruised, aching arms. "Something about Odin wanting him in Valhalla, but then the angels got involved in some way or other that wasn't really made clear to us, and the the dark side got involved and from there pretty much everything went to hell in a hurry. At least it was after the war; more souls to ferry into the afterlife..."

I really did not want to know the messy-sounding specifics of whatever rivalry any bringer of death got on over Capone. But at least it did make an itty bitty sort of sense. I mean, if there was a harbinger of death around looking for a specific soul to bring to Hades or Heaven or Hell or any sort of after life one would care to name, what better than to have the poor fellow die in a way that no other would touch him? Valkyries could only take the souls of warriors who died in battle, so if I were a god of death (something I really did not want to be in any sort of future, foreseeable or otherwise), I'd make the target die in his bed peacefully. But really, I wouldn't make a great god of death. I've seen a lot of people die, and I hate death. Death may be everywhere, but I like it to stay really far away.

So, we have a Valkyrie eager to keep other harbingers of death away from a particular soul and prepared to murder for it. I had a suspicion as to which soul she was looking for. Soul, spirit, Ka, whatever. I wouldn't know what comes after we pass anyway. Just because I'm a wizard doesn't mean I know anything and everything.

I was distracted by the relief from seemingly pulsing pain in what felt like most of my body, mostly my arm. I stared at Matsumoto as the _shinigami_ laid her hands on me, my arms, my legs, the pain slowly disappearing where she touched.

Reiki.

The Japanese art of laying on hands to impart energy of some sort to promote healing. Except that this was the real stuff, not some Zen thing taught by Buddhist monks that Elaine had used before. I could already feel my bones knitting together and my pain vanish in a wave of pure relief and some incongruously happy endorphins. Whoa, this made Elaine's reiki look real weak in comparison.

The wave of relief was disrupted as the blade of the axe embedded itself not very willingly into the brick wall not inches from my head. Then endorphins gave way to adrenaline, triggering the 'rip threat to pieces' or 'run like hell' response choice.

I'd admit my next thought was triggered by a survival instinct, that when I looked back at Gard, to see a somewhat familiar feminine figure behind Gard, that the two of them looked really good together.

Then, I realised that the woman known to me only as Retsu Unohana, now dressed modestly, but well, in a dark blue knee-length dress with matching flats, was bodily holding down the Valkyrie in a body lock, and Sigrun looked _pissed_. Ikkaku hung back, uncertainly holding the _naginata, _blade pointed at Amazon Gard.

Ow. That twisted arm at that angle must hurt.

"Good evening, Sigrun," The scary lady said, still holding down a super strong Valkyrie. "Still as violent as ever, I see."

"You," Gard managed to snarl, trying to break loose.

"How long has it been, sixty years or so? I haven't seen you since Pearl Harbour," Unohana continued to comment, pressing her weight down to prove her point. Gard stopped struggling. "Sigrun, we are not here for the Baron. Listen to sense for once before jumping to battle, I've told you before. We are here for our missing colleague, and not for the baron you protect so well for the one-eyed one," she whispered audibly to Gard. "I even asked one of the lieutenants to send you word first, and the first thing you do is retrieve your axe to attack her."

"Get off, or I will make you," Gard managed to pant.

Unohana's eyes narrowed. "Promise not to attack anyone when I do."

"Like..."

"Sigrun, we've been through this over Skorzeny's cooling corpse. We've argued over Napoleon. I've even crossed swords with you over Rommel. I am not here for the Baron, so you do not have any reason to attack us." Unohana calmly said, still serenely holding Gard down. "I will swear, on my power, that I am not after the Baron, if you would do the same not to attack any of us while we retrieve our colleague. It's not even his time yet anyway, and you know that, perhaps better than I do."

Gard seemed to freeze there for a moment, before wordlessly nodding.

"Truce?"

"Truce," Gard murmured, flexing her fingers as Unohana let her go. "For during and twenty-four hours after retrieving your...colleague. After which I come after them."

"I think," Unohana said after a few moments of consideration, "that would be enough. Do you...?"

"Sod off," Gard curtly told her, moving over to me to retrieve her axe. Hefting the bloody thing as if it was a feather, Gard began to move back to wherever she came from.

"Alruna sends her regards!" Unohana cheerfully called behind Gard's retreating figure before turning to me. "Now, Mr Dresden, how are you?"

* * *

"I'll live," I replied, though my head was spinning a bit from the revelation. "Did you really fight over Napoleon's soul?"

"Valhalla is always preparing for their Ragnarok, and brave warriors are a bit hard to find," Unohana confessed. "Although he was so disappointed when Napoleon died in bed peacefully..."

"Never mind, I don't want to know," I replied quickly, pushing myself up to a sort of half-bending standing position. "Erm, thanks for somewhat diplomatically handling the situation, Ms Unohana."

"It is not a problem, Mr Dresden," Unohana replied, still serenely smiling in a way that was borderline creepy. "It just happened to be on my way to dinner. I must be on my way now, good day."

And the scariest lady that I've seen today, under the surprised and downright gob-smacked expressions of her subordinates, walked off, the heels of her flats clacking its rhythm over the concrete floor.

Matsumoto was the first to recover. "Damn."

"Yeah," I said to no one in particular. "I agree."

* * *

Bruises are part and parcel of the job. Although in hindsight, I get more than my fair share of bruises than most private detectives, courtesy of moonlighting as not only a police consultant, but also Chicago's first (and last) defence against things that bump in the night. Believe me, I've had bruises on almost every place that the human body could possibly bruise and a few on places I didn't even know could bruise. On the bright side, every lovely dark bruise was in places that I couldn't see, so it didn't hurt as much. Out of sight, out of mind.

This is proved by a certain saying: my car is its own anti-theft device. The Blue Beetle was waiting for me in the exact same place I left it, only now, the surrounding cars were giving it a wide berth. Judging from the pattern of parking tickets, even the traffic police were giving it a wide berth. Hail the pitifully-looking Blue Beetle. I didn't see the exterior, so I went close to it. There, _quod est demostrandum_.

The bits that Matsumoto's reiki hadn't healed much yet twanged their own sort of constant dull canon of pain, attempting to prove the theory otherwise as I hobbled out of the Beetle and opened the second door for Matsumoto to come out. Even in pain, I make it a point to act a gentleman. Never let it be said that Harry Dresden is not chivalrous.

Matsumoto looked dubiously as my car sputtered and slid into its usual, almost-reserved space on the street across my apartment building, before the engine coughed once and died a horrible, coughing death.

I faked a coughing fit and motioned towards my apartment building. She got out.

"I cannot imagine what life must be like for you," she honestly replied, erm, _bouncing_ beside me, her generous 'tracks of land' making it more and more difficult not to whiplash. I coughed again, harder.

My apartment was, as usual, neat and clean, my cleaning service having just left, but I felt my face flushing as I deactivated the wards to reach to the not-very-well-done steel door...

...just for Toot to slam into my face.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear that I was under an entropy curse.

"Milord, I'm so sorry!" Toot squeaked as I clutched at my nose, thanking any deity up there that at least it didn't break.

"That's all right, Toot," I gasped through the pain. "Did you find him?"

"Yes, he's at the ectomancer's, in a circle in an empty room of the ectomancer's house!" Toot squeaked, very much like a puppy in my opinion.

When it comes to ghosts, consult an ectomancer. I had just forgotten the unspoken rules of who to consult when a situation gets in over my head.

Yep, I think I must have been under an entropy curse.

* * *

_**Please read and review!**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**It is amazing how this particular story has gathered 62 alerts already, leading by a long shot, but still lagging in terms of reviews. **_

_**I've been going through past reviews, and there was one reviewer, Legerdemain, who raised an interesting question concerning why Soul Society couldn't use the Omitsukido to search for Hitsugaya. I am going to address this concern in the following. Hopefully with sufficiently hilarious results with relevant gravity.**_

* * *

"Ow," I complained as I sank into my green and orange plaid sofa, clad in my thickest bathrobe, my new bruises twanging their canon of pain with increasing irritation.

"I'm sorry," Matsumoto really sounded sincere, seated on my sofa. "Normally we would send the Omitsukido to retrieve the captain, but...you saw how the Chooser reacted."

"I'm going to guess that you need an independent contractor to pull the kid out of the fire," I said, inferring that this Omitsukido was something to do with reconnaissance. She shrugged in reply.

I sighed and went to my telephone to call Mike and tell him about the Beetle's lovely new breakdown. He got the message. God bless Mechanic Mike; he could keep the Beetle running in nine days out of ten.

"We'll include your repair expenses," Matsumoto said. I was about to reject when she added: "You need it, look at your place."

I blinked and looked around me. Being a wizard and thus carrying the wizard's curse of never being able to stay around anything from the electronics revolution (which are most things) and thus completely unable to enjoy the benefits of said electronics revolution, I've completely eschewed electrical lighting and heating. Don't even get me started on gas heating. Therefore, I have an actual fireplace, and candles which I light with a _Flickum bicus _ spell I've invented, to provide light and heating. The price of not being able to enjoy any form of technology based on electronics. I've furnished with secondhand furniture, with a few posters here and there for decoration, loads of books on shelves around, with an alcove that served as a tiny kitchen, outfitted with a wood-burning stove, an actual icebox -with real ice- and a pantry. The faeries have stocked my icebox with too much pizza, I note; the thing looks full to bursting. The place was clean, but yes, I could completely understand why the lady would see me as living as a Amish hobo. An Amish hobo who apparently can't feed himself very well. Not very good for my ego.

On the other hand, if I rejected the offer, it's not very good for my wallet.

"No excuses," she added, coquettishly pouting. I could feel my face heating up already. "I'll go out and wait for the tow truck. You stay here and work your magic." Wink wink. Nudge nudge.

It took me a moment to process that she meant it literally and not metaphorically and definitely not to do with a bed or a sofa or anything remotely similar and get my ass in gear. Damn libido.

Given that my day couldn't possibly get any worse, I began a short countdown as Mouse, my resident large dog that guards my house, taking the chance that really, there wouldn't be any twist of events that could possibly be any worse, which just shows to go that one should never take that chance. It's just begging to go wrong.

"Three, two, one..." I breathed, Mouse letting out a doggy snort.

And there were knocks on the door.

You see? Never take that chance. I haven't even decided to get a Coke yet.

My door is a steel-framed home-made job that I haven't done very well, so it takes a huge amount of effort, even after taking care of the wards outside, to open the damn door. On the bright side, at least I know it'll stand up to break-in from vanilla mortals. It also has dents and nicks that came from people shooting at it a dozen times, but that's not my fault. I groaned, got up, and opened the door.

"Sorry about disappearing on you, but there was a massive Hollow attack at downtown, don't even know how they got here, but it took all of us to contain the damn thing," Ishida told me grimly once I got the door open, Kurosaki nodding beside him, rubbing his hand from where he had knocked my steel door. Believe me, it takes a lot more effort than it looks.

"How did you...?" I began to ask.

"Matsumoto sent us the address, we took a cab, Madarame San and Ayasegawa San are on their way here," Ishida narrated, motioning to the two behind him. The two which looked rather the worse for wear, I note. What had they been fighting?

Kurosaki grumbled, and I stepped aside to let him in. Ikkaku and Yumichika followed him in, which set off a couple of alarm bells in my head.

"Hold on, I never invited you in," I blurted in some panic. "How the hell did you get past the threshold and wards?"

The two _shinigami_ looked blank for a moment until Kurosaki translated it for them, and for me their reply.

"They say that wards and thresholds can't hold back death in any form," Kurosaki translated. "And therefore almost any harbinger of death can just stroll through a ward or threshold and not suffer the consequence."

I could feel my skin crawling as I took in the information which hinted that Gard could break down my door at any time and quite possibly kill me.

"Harbingers of death associated with the battlefield can't enter, their place is at the battlefield, but we can," Kurosaki translated further.

I breathed a sigh of relief at that. Then I remembered that it meant that any of them could kill me, and my wards wouldn't do shit against them, and I remembered to panic slightly again.

"Of course, you're not fated to die right now or any time in the foreseeable future, and if you were to die it wouldn't be here," Kurosaki added.

There was an underlying implication that I would probably die in a fight against any supernatural force terrorising the city instead of peacefully in my apartment, but I chose not to focus on that for the moment. We had a kid to retrieve. "I have received possible whereabouts as to Hitsugaya's location," I told them.

"Great," Ishida replied unenthusiastically. "So where is he?"

"Unfortunately, I can't actually get there at the moment," I confessed sheepishly. "My car broke down.

"Oh, Mr Dresden, your mechanic has picked up your car...are we all here now?" When Matsumoto entered the apartment, despite her lack of an invitation, her entire body language changed to something better suited to a soldier, and suddenly, I had no problem seeing Matsumoto hold a katana and slicing monsters to bits. "I've always wanted to say this: let's roll."

* * *

Once, on a trip to New York City, I had had the misfortune to hire a cab during the Manhattan rush hour. The resulting mad dash from the cabby was enough to put even the most ardent NASCAR driver to shame. In second place comes Murphy's driving, followed by my second mentor, Ebenazar McCoy's driving skill. Believe it or not, the centuries-old wizard was a terror with the steering wheel. When I asked him if he had ever owned a license, he'd given me a look that said _What is this thing you speak of, __'license'? _I think his policy concerning any form of wheeled transport was _Ignore everything except for the wheels and pedals, and we'll be fine_. My brother's driving was fast, but at the very least, he'd heard of the notion of safety belts and decreasing acceleration at turns.

As I bumped my head on the roof of the vehicle for the fourth time since I was forcibly pushed into the black van the _shinigami _rented, I reflected that if the driver was not in actual possession of a license, I would at least have the luxury of not being able to see the proof of it, despite Kurosaki's screams of certain words that my limited acquaintance with human screams of panic allowed me to deduce as 'car', 'tree', and 'passers-by'. My stomach threatened revolution as the van did a sharp turn, in time with Ikkaku's laughing and the teenagers' screams of terror, and I slammed into the van walls.

On the bright side, I did not go through the van wall.

On the bad side, that hurt. A lot.

By the time the van stopped at the indicated address I had told them to go to, I was sore, bruising, and finally realising the meaning of carsick. When Matsumoto opened the sliding door, I staggered out into the bright, life-giving sunlight, thank god, and savoured the feeling of solid ground beneath my feet, planting my staff into the ground to support myself. I had just gone through the epitome of bad driving with suicidal tendencies, and I had survived. I should get a medal for this.

"We're here," Matsumoto said, her voice flat.

Mortimer Lindquist lived and worked in a rented warehouse place, where the front served as the place where he holds seances and the back served as his living space. Despite the hot Chicago summer, the place was cold, as if night had chosen to fall early over this part of town despite the late afternoon sun. It felt a lot like someone had scattered a pinch of winter about the place.

Matsumoto walked up to the large front door made of oak and rapped on it, every strike producing a racket that was completely not proportional with the woman I had known.

After a while, the short,, dumpy, balding but well-dressed form of Chicago's strongest ectomancer was apparent as the door opened. He took one look at Matsumoto, followed by a sidelong one at me, and stepped aside. "I'm not letting you in, _shinigami." _he warned her.

The way she stalked into the place was telling about her opinion of Mort's welcome. "Where is he?" The words came out quiet and dangerous and protective. There was a phrase from an Agatha Christie story that came back to me about how motherhood stands where it was at the beginning; it would dare all and crush anything in its way to protects its young. I suppose it applies to any woman concerning kids as well, even powerful ones like Hitsugaya.

"Behind, spare room," Mort decided to put aside the fake bravado and slumped. He's a coward, I know, but he has a soft spot for the dead, and apparently, its guides as well. I followed the marching woman into the house, the other _shinigami _who apparently hadn't sustained any bruising or bumps, lucky them, with Kurosaki and Ishida leading, none of us saying a word. I mean, what do you say to a female _shinigami _on the warpath?

As she came to the door in question, she kicked out a vicious shod foot and broke the door down. I sidled to a slightly shaking Mort and whispered: "Was the door locked?"

"Yes," Mort sighed. "By his request."

After that, we were distracted with Matsumoto's cry of "_Taicho!"_ followed with Hitsugaya yelling: "Stop right there!"

* * *

Upon further inspection, I could see why. Hitsugaya was dressed in the black pants and shirt, with a white sleeveless coat over the entire thing. He hugged a long sword that was almost taller than him to his chest, the sight which would have been laughable in any other situation.

In the wan light in the room from the light poking through the drapes over the windows, scarlet drops spattered over the white coat, a stark contrast, and he was bleeding from his arm as well. Although it looked like he had cauterized the wound, the bloody red streaks across said arm and on his abdomen looked really bad. He was pale, and in need of medical attention. Around him, about four feet across, a circle of chalk was drawn onto the floor, effectively trapping him in.

"Don't cross the circle," Hitsugaya ordered. "Any of you. I'm leaking too much power for opening the circle to even be a remotely safe idea."

"_Taicho, _you need help," Matsumoto insisted, now with evident concern.

I felt myself filled with righteous indignity at the monster who would attack a kid. A freakishly powerful kid, but a kid nevertheless. Then, I reminded myself that this kid had a maturity and power far beyond any normal kid and had probably sustained the wound upon coming to Chicago.

"Matsumoto, unless you can deal with the result of opening the circle, I'd really rather not receive medical help just yet," Hitsugaya snapped, every bit the annoying kid he was. "Furthermore, Hai managed to escape after setting one of the Sidhe on to me. I killed the Sidhe, but he's still loose in Chicago."

"_Taicho..._"

"I need to do this." Hitsugaya's voice grated with pain as he forced out the words.

Okay. He said that he was leaking power, and hence the circle, to keep said power in. So, circle acts like a container now, storing up leaking power. If the circle is broken, power is released all at once, and the result would be a lot like a metaphorical nuclear bomb...oh.

"I know that Unohana is in here, she said she was stopping by. I need you to tell Abarai to get her here right now; I can't move in this condition, stupid Sidhe froze my arm and broke it." Hitsugaya continued to speak weakly in military fashion. "Then... oh, Kurosaki, there you are. Is that the Quincy with you?"

Kurosaki then spoke in Japanese what I assumed to be _Nice to see you too, Hitsugaya. You look like hell._

Hitsugaya replied, shooting a look at me. I assume it was: _Thanks for the compliment. For the sake of the wizard, mind speaking in English?_

Kurosaki scowled in reply.

"Right. When Unohana gets here, I need the Quincy to circumvent the power. He could probably use the resulting release of power to kill Hollows. When this happens, I need you, Madarame, and Ayasegawa to protect the surrounding areas. There are too many people in this area of the city; try not to sling too much power about. Matsumoto, try to set up a protective barrier around. Mr Dresden, a word, if you please."

And in true military fashion, they leapt into action. Really, small wonder the kid was in a position of command.

"Mr Dresden, I am sorry that I did not tell you beforehand, but there is a rogue _shinigami_ in your city," Hitsugaya spoke, cold teal eyes focused on to me. "His name is Akira Hai, and he deserted my squad after the great rebellion..."

What? Huh? Excuse me? "Excuse me?" I blurted out. "I..don't understand."

Hitsugaya looked at me for a moment before comprehension dawned. "I see. Then, I will give you some background knowledge. Some harbingers of death are born into it," he explained, "and some are made. Some souls gain power as...a ghost, you might say. And souls with this power may gain more power and experience, finally becoming a _shinigami. _We _shinigami _organise ourselves into a military organisation called the _Gotei Juusantai, _or in English, the Thirteen Court Guard Companies, all charged with the duty of preserving the balance of souls between this and the hereafter. The organisation is further broken down into thirteen squads, hence the name, each led by a Captain, who is assisted by the lieutenant. The captain is the strongest in both combat and authority, and each division is usually run according to the decisions of each division's captain, but the captain of the First Squad also serves as Commander of the entire organisation. So far am I clear?"

Ah. Military death gods. Somehow that did not bode well for me. "Yes, continue."

"The core pillars of the strength of the organisation thus rests mainly on the thirteen captains, do you understand that?" Hitsugaya insisted.

I frowned as a memory came back to me. "Then why did Matsumoto say that there were only ten captains?"

He sighed. "Earlier this year, three captains revolted against the entire organisation. That was the great rebellion. They hatched a conspiracy involving their leader's search for more power and almost resulted in the execution of an innocent and the toppling of our world, but the entire thing was largely misunderstood by many of our soldiers as a revolt against death. We can die, Mr Dresden; it just takes a lot more to kill us." He added in reply to my expression. "Some of them voiced their disagreements. Some merely deserted. Some tried to revolt, in the belief that under the rebel captains, they can finally eradicate death."

"And Akira Hai was one of these," I caught on.

"As Captain of my squad, I am responsible for bringing him back for punishment. However, he had escaped to Chicago, and I have heard that he was working for the western powers. Thus, I came to Chicago, but he had built up connections with one of Winter's vassals, and using that debt, sent the Sidhe Lord after me. Both of us wielding ice against the other, we were weakened, but Akira Hai double-crossed his partner and killed him."

I swallowed audibly.

"In the ambush, I was mortally injured and thus I called in a favour from Mortimer Lindquist, whose life I had once saved when he was hosting a séance." Hitsugaya explained. "My injury has led to the release of much of my power, and thus I would have been a walking meal for any supernatural predator, not just the fallen souls that we guide to the hereafter. And in the crossfire, people will get hurt. People may die. They already have with a _shinigami _abusing his powers.

"You have proven yourself before. You yourself have taken on those who abuse their power for their own ends now. Please, Mr Dresden, you must help us. As I am, I cannot do anything, but you could track him down; I know how wizards work. When you do, my lieutenant will help you secure him, and then we can bring him back to face judgement."

* * *

_**Finally, I never thought we'd get to this part. **_


	9. Chapter 9

_**I was going through Tv Tropes' 'Crowning Moments of Awesome' and in the process stumbled upon this fic 'Things Shinigami Are Not Allowed to Do' by Gnosismaster. Rule number 68, with added sub-clauses:**_

_**68) Chicago, Illinois in North America is added to the list of Restricted Access areas.**_

_**68a) Yes, this includes Captains too.**_

_**68b) Zaraki, no. You may not go there to fight the Reanimated T-Rex for fun. Its already dead...again.**_

_**68c) Again Zaraki, no. You may not go and threaten Mr. Dresden there to bring back the dinosaur for you to fight. This includes anyone or anything else.**_

_**This is so epic, I am going to allude to it in this chapter.**_

* * *

I looked at the injured kid, half-hoping that perhaps the insanely powerful injured kid in the circle had hit his head, or maybe all the power in the circle had addled his brains. Form the patient, long-suffering look he gave me, both possibilities were hardly likely.

"Why me?" I finally decided. "After all, I'm hardly comparable to one of you. You could call for back-up from your place, right?"

"Chicago is a restricted-access zone," he coughed, looking weak. "Ever since a blasted dinosaur ate the last _shinigami _stationed here, we've had to scale back to avoid losing more personnel. How the blasted thing ever got here is officially still a mystery..."

It was my turn to cough uncomfortably. On a Halloween a few years back, I had used necromancy- on a technicality of the Laws of Magic, of course-to revive the local most complete Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton, Sue, to go up against a family-sized cadre of necromancers. Granted, it had been technically against the Laws of Magic, but then it had been a _necessary _technicality, and I never expected Sue to stick around once the spell was dispelled.

"We had to forcibly restrain one of our berserker Captains from going after the dinosaur-summoner and forcing him to re-animate it..." Hitsugaya continued.

You know what I did in reaction to the news that some lunatic wanted to fight a _dinosaur?_ I blinked.

"...but you already knew that, didn't you?" I saw Hitsugaya give me a Significant Look with a straight face, so Significant that it deserved the capital letter.

"Er...I..."

"Congratulations, Mister Dresden. Not only does the rules at home mention your name, particularly rule sixty-eight with all added sub-clauses, but travel insurance to Chicago run by our side now places you under 'categories not covered', right beside Acts of God and the Devil." Hitsugaya continued. "A Mr John Marcone has also placed you as the number-one 'must-see' attraction when any supernatural being visits Chicago."

Holy stars and freaking stones shit bells.

I had a category of insurance non-coverage all to myself. And Gentleman Johnny, the local Mafia don, was marketing me as a tourist attraction to the supernatural side.

"We will of course, forgive any and all transgressions should the local Warden of the White Council render his assistance," Hitsugaya added.

Any doubt that before me was someone who dealt with power plays on a daily basis immediately vanished. The utter _bastard._

I was however interrupted from voicing my opinion as another scream of an amalgamation of tortured souls swept through once more. Compared to previous experiences, this scream was far louder, far worse, and far more powerful, such that the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and every single bit of my self-preservation leapt up and screamed _run, run, run. _The song of fear rushed through my blood, and already my skin was crawling.

"Shit, Menos," Hitsugaya swore, wincing as the additional effort cost him some pain. Those wounds must hurt.

"Menos?"

"Menos Grande," he replied, wincing. "What happens when several Hollows combine themselves together to form a whole new being. Like the demon Legion."

I nodded. Then something clicked. "Hold it...?"

He grimaced in my direction. "Dresden, despite my being ten times older than what I look like, I am still a teenager. I still do what normal teenagers do, or as much as it is possible for me. If you force me to quote _Ghost Rider _at you, I swear it will..." a final wince prevented him from completing that threat.

I didn't hear the rest after the _Ghost_ _Rider_ bit, seeing as another scream from the monsters the _shinigami_ called Hollows scraped through my head again, sending pain rushing through my eardrums. After that, a wave of power, not unlike a wizard's magic, rushed through, my mystic senses-don't look at me like that, I didn't invent the bloody term- standing on end even further. Or more accurately, prancing around screaming in a high soprano like in the _King Kong _movies.

"Hai. He's here," Hitsugaya grunted through the alliterative words. "I can sense him, but all the good it does. Mr Dresden, your help would be most appreciated here."

I could only stare at him. "You know," I said, "I didn't sign up to deal with errant _shinigami_ here."

"Dinosaur," Hitsugaya reminded me. "And Chicago. And the fact that a rogue is here..."

Dammit, dammit, dammit. Why me?

* * *

It was like this that I found myself evading a lightning bolt thrown by said _shinigami_ at me.

"Eat this!" I roared. Now I was pissed. "_Fuego!_"

He easily evaded the roar of flame from my blasting rod, instead jumping to the sky as if the air itself was a stepping stone -dammit, that was so damn cool- and drawing his sword. The fat lot it'd do at this distance...

He screamed a couple of words in Japanese which I was sure the English language had no consonants for, and the blade transformed itself in a flash of light like a magnesium flare into...a huge fan.

As I was struck dumb by the sheer stupidity of the situation, Hai grabbed the fan and waved it into my direction, kicking up a mini-tornado in my direction.

Okay, maybe not so stupid.

It was no time to fight with wind magic, which to me was pretty much a straightforward gale that would have done jack against the freaking tornado, so I dived out of the way, the asphalt of the road digging into my palms as I prepared one of the most suicidally powerful combat magics I knew.

Thankfully, Matsumoto distracted him with the virtue of a sharp sword and mean magic skill at that, the two warriors like flashes of light dancing in the sky while I muttered a litany of faux Latin under my breath. The whole thing took fifteen seconds, shortened by the adrenaline rush and fear. Whatever the Menos was, I was sure glad it ain't here. Yet, anyway. I hope Kurosaki managed to deal with the thing.

"_Gravitas!"_ I roared, sending my magic deep into the earth.

Gravity off-lined itself around the surrounding areas. A trash-can floated a few inches off the ground before diving back to earth. A parking meter cracked and twisted itself, and several cars levitated an inch off.

Earth is a sort of binding agent. A useful one at that. It keeps thresholds steady, it keeps dead bodies in, and, symbolically, ghosts. Spirits are only one type of ghosts. And _shinigami_, from what I could infer, were only a sub-type of ghosts. This meant that the had to obey the rules all spirits had to conform to, which meant that to hem, gravity would still weigh them down. Oh yes, they could use magic to offset it, but in the end...what goes up must soon come down.

Akira Hai screamed in shock as he was pulled down to earth at twenty times the normal acceleration of gravity to meet asphalt with a _splat._ Before he could get up, Matsumoto, much like the warrior she was, dived down and, with a mighty swing of her sword, severed his head from his neck.

Before we could do anything else, what felt like a mini-eclipse happened and a large shadow fell across the battlefield. Matsumoto looked up, her luscious mouth falling open in shock, before running in my direction in the funny teleporting way I had seen her use before. That was before I looked up.

You know Godzilla? Yeah, the freaking skyscraper-huge lizard that rises out of Tokyo Bay and stomps all over Tokyo. The monster in front of me could have given it a run for its money. It looked a lot like a scarecrow, shrouded in black, with a white face and a long _Pinnochio-_standard nose, albeit one that could have been the height of the Sears Tower or Taipei 101 all by itself.

"Menos Grande," I heard Matsumoto exclaim. Yeah, Grande alright.

The big, scary scarecrow thing tilted the head the size of a barn down at us, tiny, beady eyes looking down. The bone-white mask with the huge nose then opened its mouth, and a small ball of red light began to form.

Crap. Crappity crappity crap. I was so screwed.

The ball was growing larger and larger before Matsumoto sidled up to me, somehow managing to change into the black uniform I had seen Kurosaki in once before. How on earth she found the time to change I had no idea, and wasn't keen to know. "Can you protect the surroundings from the Cero?" she asked. "The ball of light," she corrected upon seeing my face.

I solemnly shook my head.

She nodded grimly. "Could you attack its legs?"

I frowned. "Yeah, why...?"

"Do so, please," before she took to the skies, leaping humanly impossible heights with the _air _as her stepping stone, sword shimmering in her hand from what little light there was at night. As she prepared to stab the thing in the...face?

I decided to follow in the interest of not being killed by the thing. "_Fuego! Pyrofuego! _Burn, dammit!"

Flames leapt around the huge Menos Grande, who let out an absolute scream of pain that scraped at my mind on a visceral level, but I didn't care, I poured all of the will of a wizard into the flames.

Fire burns even in the spirit world. And I had just set it on fire.

Matsumoto must have dealt a death blow up there, as the monster screamed, a high, keening wail as it swayed and began to fall.

"Timber," I wheezed, my legs turning to jelly from the lethargy brought on by slinging that much magic about. I felt myself landing on my ass, and found that I just didn't have the heart to care that the skyscraper-tall monster was falling in my direction, before I keeled over into unconsciousness.

* * *

In a stunning decision brought on by confused _shinigami_, my unconsciousness and that I was barely breathing, combined with Murphy's dilemma of my situation, I woke up in the morgue for the second time in my life.

This, if you don't know, is enough to ruin your entire day.

"I'm not dead!" I screamed, definitely in a manly way. "I'm not!"

"And welcome back to the land of the living, Mr Dresden," Hitsugaya replied dryly, to my right.

I blinked from the harsh glare of the lights and sat up, shaking my head. To my right sat Hitsugaya and Matsumoto-I still had difficulty winding my head around the fact that a kid was her superior, despite prior experience with Kincaid and the Archive-, who were looking at me, one with concern, the other with a scowl. The latter one was bandaged across the abdomen, stitched up in the arm and short. I'll leave you to guess which is which.

I groaned as a flash of pain rushed through my head. "How long was I out?"

"Two days. Your police friend brought you here. Kurosaki and Ishida have gone back to their normal school affairs and are flying back to Japan tomorrow. They send you their regards and hope you visit if possible soon." Hitsugaya detailed monotonously. "The rest of my team, with the exception of myself and Matsumoto, have gone back to the Seireitei to deliver the remains of Akira Hai and report on our current dilemma. The Winter Court, the Winter Lady in particular, has decided that I am responsible, due to the absence of proof upon the murder of her vassal and is seeking trial by combat. As I am under a non-Accorded entity who nevertheless has the respect of the Accords, I am obliged to remain in Chicago until further notice with Matsumoto, and to conclude our contract."

I blinked. "Oh."

"Yes, Mr Dresden. Added to that I have to have contact with an Accorded entity, and then my presence before you is further explained." Hitsugaya added. "Also, during my trial, you along with two other local Accorded entities aside from the Winter Court and two respected neutral parties from the East would have to be present..."

I held up a hand. "Wait, wait. You're saying that after all this, I have to watch you fight as well?"

Hitsugaya raised one eyebrow. Perfectly. I felt so jealous. "Yes, Mr Dresden. And if I should lose...well, it has been nice meeting you. I would have to pay reparations to the Winter Court to compensate."

And the Winter Court were more focused on favours and power than in cash. Hell, any faerie liked power more than money. I suppose when they have seen many different kinds of currency in their lifetime, money seemed kind of stupid, but that wasn't the point. Handing that much power to the Winter Court would disrupt the balance, which would mean a crisis on the level of the next ice-age kind.

Ye gods above, why?

* * *

_**This chapter is a bit short by normal standards, but I'll compensate the next chapter. **_

_**Please read and review!**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**After a long time, I have discovered that I suffer from Attention Deficit Creator Disorder (ADCD), which in TvTropes is basically detailed as writer's block. So, I have started on the last chapter! Yay!**_

_**After this one, I will be turning my hand to Dedication to Light and Darkness, my YuGiOh! x Dresden Files crossover. **_

_**My beta has been curiously MIA for a while. Anyone seen The Glorious Cheshire Cat around yet? **_

_**Enjoy.**_

* * *

It was winter when the short captain and the Winter Lady clashed once more. With the Archive, a dragon named Ferrovax, and the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven (who curiously brought bananas along with him) judging, and with me as a witness, they froze the tops of Lake Michigan in an epic clash of magic that I could feel even through my leather duster and behind the Archive.

It was sadly interrupted as a gang of malks attempted the _Et tu Brute _and tried to murder the Winter Lady. We would have killed the malks and left it if not for the curious smell of freshly painted blood on their claws. The blood was white, instead of human red, brown troll or green goblin.

It was Sidhe blood.

The ire of Winter was unleashed that day as the Winter Lady flew back to the Nevernever swearing the air literally blue with power as the Lady left to secure her throne, declaring the duel null and void. Ferrovax and the Monkey King left soon after, leaving one half-frozen wizard and an equally cold god of death in their wake.

"Strange things are stirring in Chicago," Hitsugaya muttered as the double gates materialised before us again. "The next time I see you, I hope for it to be on auspicious terms."

"Er, thanks, I guess," I replied, not knowing what to say to a guy who guided souls to the afterlife for a living.

He shook his head sadly. "You are fated to die soon. The most auspicious death is one without pain, Mr Dresden."

I thought back to my own past. How a demon from Outside was waiting for me, to rip apart molecule by molecule. How many would want me dead. How many would bay for my blood when I finally did die.

"Wizards live a long time," I finally chose. "Maybe I'll still be around for a century or two."

Hitsugaya smirked. It did not reach those cold, teal eyes. "You have a destiny. I doubt it. I will tell you a secret; destiny is a wonderful storyteller, but not a fair player. In the chessboard of fate, I would say that you are a pawn who has reached the other side of the board. Destiny does not like that."

"Destiny," I replied. "Can live with it."

"Goodbye, Mr Dresden," he stated with finality. "If we meet again, I can only hope it under auspicious terms."

As the gates slammed closed, the winds of Chicago howled like the ice dragons of legend amidst the clouds.

Destiny, huh? Destiny is many things, but what they never tell you, is that destiny is a lousy father figure. If destiny was responsible for all the shit in my life...I'd still take my life.

It sure beats the alternative.

* * *

_**Conclusione della storia.**_


End file.
